


Searching for a Happier Ending

by kemartin2009



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-08-05 02:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16359413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemartin2009/pseuds/kemartin2009
Summary: After years of self-imposed solitude in the United States, Hermione returns to Hogwarts to work in peace on her pet project, a special potion she's developing. Her progress is stuck, so she turns to the most talented Potions Master she knows of, Severus Snape, to help her. At Hogwarts, she reencounters Remus Lupin, and sparks fly, but those aren't the only sparks that are flying.Starts out RL/SS, becomes HG/RL, and more eventually.





	1. Returning Home

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the characters and I'm not making money. Everything you recognize belongs to JK. 
> 
> At the time that I started posting this work, I'm about 2/3 finished writing it. I know more or less where it's going and have every intention of finishing. Comments and Kudos will help get me there!

“What do you think of our newest professor?” Remus asked, looking at the scotch in his hand. It glowed a warm gold, reflecting the light of the fire. The long, lazy summer was coming to an end, but even in the height of summer, the dungeons were cool enough at night to merit a flame. He sat in an armchair, soaking in the warmth of the light, the scotch, and surprising friendship. 

“Miss Granger?” Snape asked, “I hadn’t realized she’d pursued Arithmancy. Her presence will more than double the number of eligible women in the castle. And that’s if you count Poppy.”

“Do you count Poppy?” Remus asked, glancing up from his drink. 

“No. She’s with Filius.” 

“You’re kidding.”

“Never.” Severus sat opposite Remus in an armchair, the twin to the one Remus occupied, wearing slacks and a crisp white shirt, his top two buttons undone and sleeves rolled to the elbow. Severus took a large gulp of his scotch.

Remus scowled at the waste of such an exquisite vintage. “How did I not know?”

“You weren’t a spy for nearly two decades.”

Remus raised his glass in acknowledgement and took a sip. “You consider Hermione eligible? She was your student for six years.”

“If I discounted women who were once my students, there would be damn few women left for me to date in Great Britain. Luckily, I recovered from such scruples some years ago. Sometimes I ask the girls to wear their old robes.”

Remus saw the gleam in Snape’s eye. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” 

“Yes. Not about dating younger women, but the robes.”

“Perhaps.”

“I need another scotch,” Remus declared. “If you know so much of what happens in this castle, do you know when she arrives?”

Severus tipped the decanter, refilling his friend’s glass. It was a familiar gesture and a comforting moment, this night cap. They had developed the habit in the year after the war, as each tried and failed to sleep, their nights fraught with the memories of all they’d lost. A glass or two of scotch, or occasionally something stronger, helped pave the way toward sleep. Severus no longer quite recalled how it had started, but he didn’t question it. Sleep rarely came for him on the nights Remus wasn’t available. 

“You are awfully curious about our newest professor,” Snape remarked, reclaiming his chair. There was a large couch that either of them could have stretched out on, but both preferred the armchairs. “I thought you were friends.”

Remus shrugged. “We see each other on occasion, but she’s been living in America for most of the last decade. Harry hosts something every few months and Hermione shows up once or twice a year. The bloody Victory Ball. I’d say we’re friendly, rather than friends. All of which you’d know if you ever bothered to accept invitations, oh mighty spy of Hogwarts.”

Severus raised a challenging eyebrow. “My understanding is that you sit next to the girl whenever the opportunity presents itself and spend your evenings deep in conversation, often monopolizing her attention. Forgive me for misconstruing the relationship.” Severus’ words dripped with heavy sarcasm. “She arrives tomorrow,” he drawled, conveniently not mentioning the trouble he’d gone through - snooping in Minerva’s office - to find the information. 

“Hm,” Remus tried not to look too excited. Severus wasn’t wrong. He did seek out Hermione at the dinners at Harry’s and the bloody Balls. She was impossible to miss. He’d done his best to maneuver close to her, to sit next to her at dinners. It was easier than it had any right to be, but most folks had paired off after the war. Remus and Hermione were frequently the only ones to attend those gatherings alone. Hermione was a pleasant seat mate, and he never felt like a third wheel next to her. She was brilliant, charming, wickedly funny, and in the last few years had grown from pretty girl to gorgeous woman. He wasn’t worthy of her of course, but that didn’t change the fact that he inarguably, viscerally wanted her, and, if his nose did not deceive him, the feeling just might be mutual.

“Shall we invite her for a drink?” Severus asked. 

“Of course.”

“And perhaps she’ll stay for more.”

“Do you think she’d be interested?” Remus asked, glancing toward Severus’ bedroom door. He didn’t voice his surprise at Severus’ interest. They were non-exclusive, and Severus seemed to generally pursue younger women. So did he, all things considered. He hadn’t considered sharing, but it was a tidy solution, if Hermione would go for it. 

“I haven’t the foggiest. We’ll never know if we don’t ask. We can ease her into it.”

“Hm,” Remus responded, unable to say more.

Snape watched him over the rim of his glass. “Well then,” Severus said. He drained his glass and set it firmly on the table. Then he stood and leaned over to claim his lover’s lips. 

~*~

“Student’s arrive tomorrow,” Minerva announced, her voice dour. “Hermione, you’ll coordinate the first years, taking the lead boat across the lake. Severus, you and Remus will be supervising the carriages…” 

Remus tuned out, his task committed to memory. It was his sixth year with this particular duty, and he no longer needed to hear the details. He watched Hermione from her seat at the round table that was a central fixture in the staff room. Her loose curls were controlled in a chignon, and her white blouse and red lips sent his mind into a number of delightfully inappropriate places. Her eyes found his and she gave him a small smile before looking back at Minerva, seemingly rapt by Minerva’s instructions for the day to come. 

“Thank you all.” Minerva said, at last concluding her instructions for the coming night. They were dismissed, and Remus hurried to catch up with Hermione before she exited the room. He passed Severus and smiled quickly, meeting the man’s eye as he hurried by. 

“Hello!” Remus said, “Hermione, how are you?” It was a lame opener, but it did the job. She slowed, allowing him to match pace. 

“Not bad, all things considered. It’s good to be back at Hogwarts.” 

He offered her his arm, and she accepted, looping her arm through his in a familiar gesture that set his pulse racing. 

“When did you arrive? Do you have a bit of time for a walk?”

“I’d love some fresh air. I arrived just before the meeting, and the Portkey has left my stomach a bit unsettled.”

“Well then, by all means.” He said, steering her gently outside and toward the lake.

They walked quietly for a long moment, still arm and arm. Hermione turned her face up, absorbing the late summer sunlight and the sight nearly stopped Remus in his tracks as he watched. She was stunning.

“It’s good to be home,” Hermione said, a smile lighting her features. 

“You missed it?”

“Every day.”

“Then why did you stay away so long? I know you studied Arithmancy, but most apprenticeships are only three years. It’s been more than twice that.”

Hermione shrugged, and Remus let her have her silence. “I’m glad you’re back. It will be good to have another friend on staff.”

“Oh? Is the staff not friendly? I don’t really know any of the other professors, save what I knew of you all in school.”

“Everyone’s friendly enough - we live together, so we must be cordial. I have few friends, but I’m a solitary old codger. I think you’ll fare better. You know Neville, of course. Herbology. Luna is teaching Care of Magical Creatures. She was a year behind you and in the DA, I believe?” At Hermione’s nod, he continued. “So two people you know well. She was married last year. Have you met her husband? 

“I’m afraid I missed that wedding.”

“Rolf Scamander, Newt’s grandson. It’s a good match.” Remus continued, “Severus is still here. He and I are quite good friends.”

“Really? I would not have guessed that, given your exchanges before the war.”

Remus shrugged. “He’s… he’s still Severus, of course. But he mellowed some, and I suspect much of his demeanor was to maintain his cover as a Death Eater.”

“He wasn’t particularly pleasant at Order meetings…”

“He wasn’t a particularly happy person.”

Hermione smiled up at Remus. “A good point. I hadn’t considered that. And is he happy now?”

Remus laughed. “No. But neither is he quite so miserable.”

Hermione smiled, but this time Remus noted a sadness in it. “That could be said of many of us.” They walked in silence for a few long moments toward the Quidditch pitch. At length, Hermione asked, “Did he forgive you for the whole Shreaking Shack thing?”

Remus smiled again. “I wouldn’t say ‘forgive’ but he now only reminds me of it when I particularly annoy him.”

“I’d consider that a win.”

They continued walking together, chatting of nothing in particular, while Hermione took the opportunity to study her former professor. Wizards aged gracefully, and he was only in his mid-forties. His hair was somewhere between dirty blond and light brown with no hint of grey, and his his features showed few signs of encroaching middle age. He stood nearly a foot taller than her, and she had to crane her neck to look at him. His figure was trim, his shoulders broad and muscular, and he looked comfortable in dark slacks and a jumper. He wasn’t classically good looking, with his nose a touch too long and too large for his narrow face, but somehow he was compelling, attractive even.

She realized that he was looking down at her, expecting the answer to a question. 

“Sorry? I missed that.” Hermione admitted. 

“I asked if you’d like to come to my room for a drink sometime this week so we can spend more time catching up. I’d love to hear more about your time in America. I’ve never been.”

“That would be lovely,” Hermione said, and she meant it. It really had been too long since she allowed herself a comfortable friendship.


	2. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione shares her story and gets to know her former professors a little better. This story is not beta-read, and all mistakes are entirely my fault. Sorry!  
> Chapter is G. Later chapters will have more NSFW scenes.

“Whiskey, Scotch, or…?” Remus said from the side bar. It was the second week of school, and Hermione had finally talked herself into visiting Remus. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to visit— she did! But she had trouble convincing herself that it was a good idea, and she’d grown so used to solitude. 

“Just wine for now,” Hermione said. She sat in the arm chair by the window of Remus’s sitting room, his favorite for a long evening of reading. Her legs were curled under her, which he took as a sign of her comfort in his presence. “I’m afraid if I have anything stronger, I’ll fall directly to sleep.”

“That chair is a danger if sleep isn’t your immediate priority,” Remus said, handing Hermione the wine. 

“I had intuited that,” Hermione said, stifling a yawn.

Remus frowned, taking the second armchair. With a flick, he lit the fire in his fireplace. It wasn’t a particularly cold evening yet, especially away from the chilly confines of the dungeon, but the warm glow softened the stone in the room and made the space feel more inviting. “Should I let you get some sleep? We can play catch up another night.”

“No, no. I’ve had enough of my own company. I’d much rather spend a quiet evening with friends.”

“Shall I summon Professor Longbottom?” 

Hermione smiled, “No, if I read things correctly at dinner, he and that new professor, the new Trelawny- Cassandra something or other- have plans.”

“Oh really now?”

“There was much miming and eyebrow waggling over the roast tonight,” Hermione said, her voice utterly serious until she cracked and giggled. 

“Did you communicate much with Neville while you were abroad?” Remus asked. He sipped his scotch, enjoying the smoky flavor as it burned down his throat. It had been eight years, give or take, since most of the Wizarding world had seen hide or hair of Hermione Granger. She kept her profile somewhere between low and non-existent. She all but vanished after the war and her final year of Hogwarts, returning publicly only for the annual Victory Ball. He saw her two or three times a year, between the Balls and dinners at Harry’s, and though quite charming, she was remarkably tight lipped about her life. 

“Not really. Not as much as I ought have. I’m so sorry, Remus. I really should have done a better job of staying in touch.”

“Don’t apologize to me, Hermione. You owe me nothing.”

They sat quietly for a moment, drinking in the soft glow of the fire before Hermione said, “I think I will take a whiskey after all.”

She traded Remus her empty wine cup for a tumbler. After another comfortable silence, Hermione blurted, “I needed to not be Hermione Granger for a while. Does that make sense?”

Remus looked at her, really looked at Hermione. She was tired, the result of a long day of teaching- she had back to back doubles on Tuesdays- rather than the immediate weight of life. Compared to most of the survivors, Hermione looked vital in a way he rarely saw among his peers. With her smooth skin and lithe frame, she could still pass for one of the students if she so desired. The same could not be said for any of Hogwarts’ other professors, even those she graduated with. Neville had a solidness about him now that he’d never possessed in school. Luna’s hair had gone from cornsilk blond to white before she turned twenty-five. Hermione’s time away had been good for her. 

Certainly, he could empathize with the desire not to be oneself. Since he was bitten, and more so once his condition had become public knowledge, he’d always been The Werewolf. It overshadowed everything else about him, even his status as one of the Order, those credited with defeating He Who Must Not Be Named. If Minerva hadn’t offered him a position following the war, even his Order of Merlin wouldn’t have been able to get him steady employment. 

Hermione seemed to intuit his thoughts. “Of course. I shouldn’t have spoken. I’m so sorry, Remus. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Think nothing of it,” he waved away her apology. Hermione had been not just a war hero, but a member of the Golden Trio. She could have been anything she wanted following the war. He couldn’t fathom why someone would run from that. “But I can’t say I fully understand. You could have had the world on a platter.”

She smiled weakly and shrugged, “I have tried for years to explain it to myself, and I’m pretty sure I’m still going to cock it up,” Hermione said with a rueful laugh. “I was eighteen, and since I was eleven, I was one of a trio- the clever one. I did what needed to be done for a just cause. I don’t regret that, of course, not for a second. But after the war, I couldn’t go to Hogsmeade without the someone writing a column about my shoes, my hair, whether I looked too happy after the devastation of the war because I dared smile, or if I didn’t smile, was I wallowing in our losses? PTSD? If I went on a date with Ron, or out with friends it was front page news in the Daily Prophet. Yeah?” She looked up to see if Remus was following. He nodded for her to continue.

“I wanted a chance to be a child, a teen, a young woman, without Rita Skeeter and her ilk following my every move. Especially when I broke things off with Ron.”

He’d heard about the break up just after Hermione’s final year at Hogwarts, but she’d vanished almost immediately and hadn’t ever publicly addressed it. He desperately wanted to pry; no one knew what happened. Ron had not given any reason, and had very quickly fallen into a relationship with Lavender Brown. 

“You can ask,” Hermione said, clearly reading his face, “But only if you pour me another.”

Remus took up the bottle and did his duty. 

Hermione looked at the glass. “I was supposed to grade papers tonight,” she mused.

“What happened?” Remus asked.

“I decided to drink instead. Oh- Ron. He wanted to get married immediately and have a dozen babies. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get married ever. Nothing dramatic. No fireworks.”

“Ah. So you went to America?”

“Harvard’s School of Magical Studies. I straightened my hair and went by Jean. If people asked, I said Hermione was my cousin. The professors and administrators knew, but they kept my secret.”

Remus raised his brows. “You kept your identity a secret for eight years?”

“People are fairly self-involved,” Hermione said with a rueful smile. “I made vague noises about being homeschooled in the English countryside, pretended to have opinions about Doctor Who - an English television show, it’s like a play but - never mind. When people started conversations, I mostly just let them talk about themselves or we talked about our research.”

“And you used similar tricks here,” Remus said, nodding. “You asked me all about my life at Hogwarts when we sat together at the Victory Ball, and I didn’t even know that you studied Arithmancy. Severus could learn a thing or two from you. Did anyone know? Anyone from here?”

“Minerva- she wrote my letter of recommendation, and Harry because he’d have come and hunted me down if I didn’t tell him.”

“Really?” Remus asked. He hadn’t figured Harry for looking past his own nose. 

“He insists on phone calls every Sunday. For a boy without a family, he’s got quite the knack for mothering.”

“I didn’t know he had it in him. Another whiskey?” 

“Oh gosh,” Hermione said, examining her empty glass. “Hm. Harry has us all on a call rotation. You didn’t know? I’m Sunday. Ron is Monday. Neville and Luna are alternate Tuesdays. He takes tea monthly at least with Minerva.” 

Remus looked thoughtful. “Drinks the first Saturday of the month, or second depending on the moon. I’d never really thought about it, but it is rather like clockwork.”

Hermione smiled. 

“He never mentioned you. The rest, yes. Ginny and the kids. Not you.”

Hermione smiled, and Remus didn’t miss the sadness in it. “I asked him not to.”

“I’m shocked.”

“He grew up rather well, that one.”

Remus made a vague sound of agreement. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed Harry’s attention. He always knew more or less when Harry would send Hedwig II with an invite, but he hadn’t realized quite how regular the calls were. It was the lunar calendar, he guessed. He measured his life by it, and the Gregorian calendar dictated the lives of much of the rest of the world. 

“So now I know why you were gone,” Remus said. “What brings you home?”

Hermione stretched like a cat, her whole body caught in the movement, and Remus became suddenly very aware that Hermione had grown into a very beautiful woman. He crossed his legs. 

“Do not give me a third? Fourth? Whiskey,” Hermione said, eying her empty cup. “That would be a tremendously bad idea.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Remus said. 

“I don’t have a good answer,” Hermione said with a shrug. “I finished my PhDs in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions. Earned my hoods, and there were precisely two people there for me- Harry and Minerva. It seemed silly to drag them half way around the world to witness my life, and I’ve missed so much of Harry’s and Ginny’s.

“The furor around war heroes has died down. I figured I could finally get on with my life.” She was studying the fire and studiously avoiding Remus’s eye. “And I was lonely.”

Remus reached out from his chair and took Hermione’s hand. She started, but did not pull away. He tugged, pulling her to her feet, and he stood to meet her. Face to face, he wrapped Hermione in his arms and held her for a long quiet moment, and when they parted, he chivalrously pretended not to notice that his shirt was damp from her tears.

~*~

Hermione knocked on Remus’s door. It was a three days since her first visit, a period of time she deemed to be soon enough that she wouldn’t be unexpected, and long enough apart that she didn’t look too desperate. The truth was, she was desperate. She had grown used to having dear, close friends. Living without any for so long… she thought she didn’t need that connection, but one evening drinking with Remus and she found she was craving contact with him like a junky looking for her next fix. It was the hug that had done it, she decided. That close contact, that silent support, and the small tendre she had for him since her school days had blossomed into a full blown crush. 

She found herself blushing and shifting outside his door like a school girl, and forced herself to stand still. It was an evening of drinking, and perhaps grading papers like a reasonable adult. Nothing more. Damn it. 

“Hermione! Hello!” Remus said, opening the door. 

He stood in jeans and a jumper that fit well across his shoulders and narrow frame. His feet were bare, and the there was something about the v neck of his jumper and sensuality of his bare feet that had Hermione squirming as heat lit at her core. 

“Remus, hi.” Hermione said. She closed her eyes, viscerally feeling the lameness of her line. “Are you up for some company?”

“By all means,” drawled a voice from inside the room. “Invite the girl in.” 

“Oh! I didn’t realize you already had company. I don’t mean to impose. I’ll just—“

“Come in,” Remus said firmly. Belatedly he added, “Please.”

Remus stepped aside, making room for the witch and ushering her into the room. “I mentioned Severus and I are friends. We- we often spend evenings together grading and planning lessons. You are very welcome to join us.”

Severus had an eyebrow raised in a look that wasn’t meant for her, and which Hermione couldn’t interpret. “Hello, Professor,” she said to the man sitting by the fire. 

“Severus, please. I can’t comfortably drink with some stammering school girl.”

The insult was enough to straighten her spine. “I don’t usually stammer, and I’m well past my school girl days. You won’t find a single plaid skirt in my wardrobe.”

“I’m heartbroken to hear it,” Severus drawled.

Hermione took the exchange as an opportunity to study her former professor. Like Remus, he was in his mid-forties, and fit. Divested of his robes, he wore black slacks and crisp white button down, the top two buttons undone to show a rather distracting Adams apple and the dark curling hair at the top of his chest. The look was strangely intimate, and Hermione cast a glance between the two men, drawing her own devastating conclusions. He wore glasses low on his long nose and held a book open in his hand. A drink sat on the table next to him, a dark amber liquid that could have been whiskey or scotch. 

“I imagine you get rather too much of the real thing for your fantasies to tend in that direction,” Hermione supplied. 

“It’s true,” Severus agreed. “I wanted to skin the last little cretan who stole boomslang skin from my supplies. Nothing naughty about that urge. Luckily, if memory serves, she turned herself into a cat.”

Hermione blushed at the reference to her second year mishaps. 

“Touche.” 

“What can I get you?” Remus asked from where he’d taken up his position by the sidebar. 

“I had a double with fifth years Gryffindor and Slytherin today. I think I could learn to hate Fridays. Do you know how to make a Manhattan by any chance?”

“I do,” Remus said with a small smile.

“Really?”

“It was a game the Marauders played when we were just out of school - making obscure mixed drinks. Padfoot liked Prohibition cocktails. 

“Merlin bless.”

“Neat or on the rocks?”

“Neat, light on the vermouth.”

While Remus mixed her drink, Hermione took off her robes and hung them on a peg by Remus’s door. She dressed for comfort in the evening, eschewing traditional wizarding clothing for the more comfortable muggle clothes she had grown accustomed to in graduate school. Tonight, she wore a long sweater over leggings and a pair of flats. Remus found he rather liked the look, as it gave him a nice view of Hermione’s shapely legs, and a tantalizing peek at her ass when she curled up on his much neglected sofa. 

She accepted her drink and sipped, feeling the simple act of curling up with friends relax her. 

“Remus tells me you earned a PhD in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions. Quite the over achiever, aren’t you?” Snape asked. 

“Oof,” Hermione said, sipping her drink, “That’s your opening gambit?”

“I believe in a strong opener.”

“I spent the last eight years with Americans. Blunt no longer works on me.”

“Unless we’re talking about sex,” Severus corrected. “Americans are shockingly prudish.”

“Ah,” Hermione said, “but I’m still English, and can sing ‘Sit on my face and tell me that you love me’ in its entirety.”

Severus smiled and Remus guffawed. “She’s got you there, Sev,” Remus said, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“Ah, but she has failed to answer my question. Do not think I’d forgotten, Ms.- Hermione.”

Hermione took another sip of her drink, stalling to see if she could find a way out and decided on a half truth. “I had a project I was working on. To do it well and fully, it required considerable research and study in each area. The Masters each consented to work with me for the requisite two years toward Mastery, and agreed that my research project would fulfill the requirements for each degree.” She shrugged. “That’s why it took eight years. Two for each subject, two for the project. And yes, I do suspect my name and status had something to do with granting their consent.”

“I notice that you fail to mention what your project was. I have never met an academic less enthusiastic about talking at length about their area of research.”

“I learned pretty quickly at school that nothing stops conversations like a graduate student talking about their research.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow and Hermione knew that a continued dodge would become suspicious. More suspicious. 

“My hypothesis was that using Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, new spells and potions could be developed more quickly, bypassing months, perhaps years of research and development by allowing us to more quickly identify spell components, potion ingredients and quantities of said ingredients. My dissertation is being published by Harvard University Press next June.” She took a large sip of her Manhattan. 

“Wow,” Remus said in stunned appreciation. “That could have massive repercussions in potion development—“

“But it’s all theoretical. Could we now talk about anything else? Please?” Asked Hermione. “It’s really not as interesting as it sounds. And could I have another drink?”

“Hm,” Severus said, watching the young woman. He would let the conversation go for the moment, but there was no way he would let it drop entirely. Her research could have far too much impact on his work- and his life- to let such a conversation go. 

Talk turned to classes, and the evening passed amicably until well past midnight.


	3. False Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Remus finally stop dancing around each other, but things don't go quite as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. I still don't own anything and am not making money. I am my own beta reader--all mistakes are mine. Please give kudos and comments. They make me write faster.

It was nearly a a month later when Severus caught Hermione alone. Remus was recovering from the full moon and Hermione and Severus had drawn the short straws and were chaperoning the first Hogsmeade trip. They had spent enough evenings in each others company to be comfortable with the assignment, so neither was dreading the experience as much as they might have been with a less amicable partner. 

“Hermione,” Severus said, nodding to her as they each examined their lists of students with permission to attend.

“Severus. Are you prepared for a joyous day of doing the absolute bare minimum to keep all students more or less alive?”

“Gleeful at the prospect, I assure you.”

“I believe mine are present and accounted for.”

“Likewise.”

They walked toward the gate, well aware that neither had truly counted. 

“Once,” Severus observed, “you would have carefully counted each student, and checked every name against your list to ensure they all had permission to attend.”

“Percy Weasley and I would have been a much better match than me and Ron, eh?” Hermione asked with a chuckle. “Too anal retentive for our own good. I think Dolorous Umbridge really cured me of that. She taught me pretty thoroughly that not all rules are there to help and protect you. And, you know, the war.”

“Ah yes, that pesky little thing.”

“Hm. Had a way of getting in the way.”

“Quite.”

“Your research—“

“You are persistent.”

“Wolfbane.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest and closed it again. There was no use in lying, of course. She just wasn’t accustomed to someone reading her like Snape had managed to. “Yes.”

“Did it work?”

Hermione scowled and was silent for a moment, struggling to order her thoughts. “I haven’t successfully tested it. My Potions Master with Lionel Graves.”

Severus scoffed. 

“Precisely.”

“Was it his gross prejudice against non-human species that limited you, or his rampant misogyny?”

“His lechery, actually, though the other two didn’t help matters. The grabby-handed twit was more interested in getting his hand up my skirts than the content of my work or my cauldron. At one point I literally had to stab him to get his hand off my thigh, at which point he blocked my research.” Hermione ran a frustrated hand through her hair.

“You could have sued for a new Master.”

“All trials have to go before the Wizengamot in open session.”

Severus watched the frustration boiling off the witch. He made the logical leaps, now understanding her current anger and earlier evasion. “And that’s why you said your work is all theoretical. You had the world’s worst Potions Master, who blocked your practical research because you refused to sleep with him and because he didn’t believe in the work you were doing, and you chose to publish what you had and graduate rather than go to a prolonged and public trial before the university or the Wizengamot, both of which would put your name back in the press and would likely have proved fruitless because they’re not the most forward thinking lot.”

Hermione glanced up at him, side long. “That’s the crux of it. My Masters in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes claimed their hands were tied.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting something.”

Hermione looked up at him. 

“You now have the world’s best Potions Master at your service.”

“Severus, could I tell you a secret?” Hermione asked, her eyes dancing. “I didn’t forget anything.”

~*~

After a long day in Hogsmeade, Hermione and Severus agreed to meet back up in Remus’s room, ostensibly to check on the werewolf, but mostly so that Severus could receive and begin to read Hermione’s thesis. 

“Merlin. You didn’t warn me it was a thousand pages.”

“It’s not. It’s 394, not counting the appendices and bibliography.”

“What’s that,” Remus asked, nodding at the bound pages Hermione had placed on the low table between their arm chairs. He looked worn, haggard from his transformation, and that was one of many things Hermione hoped to fix with her new potion. If it worked… if it worked, she would show Severus some of the other new equations she was working on. 

“My dissertation.”

Remus blew out a low whistle. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You never submitted less than eighteen inches for a foot long essay.”

“I believe in being thorough.”

“It’s an important quality in a partner,” Remus said with a lascivious smirk. 

Hermione glanced at Severus and found his heated eyes on her as well. She looked between the two men and blushed, uncertain what to make of the exchange, given what she had guessed lay between them. 

“I’m also fast and sharp as a tack,” she said, paraphrasing an old song. The men looked at her blankly and Hermione shrugged. “Cake? Never mind. Muggle thing. I’ll play it for you at some point. Remus, how are you feeling?”

“About usual. Like I’ve been hit by a bus, but am likely to fully recover.” 

“That sounds ever so pleasant,” Hermione said with a grimace.

“Quite refreshing. I recommend it to all my friends.”

“Would a massage help?” Hermione asked. She felt bold and a little transgressive for asking, but she’d learned how to give a decent massage in the Gryffindor common room after hard quidditch practices on cold mornings. Her two best friends were athletes and it came with the territory. She also wished she had some of the massage oil she’d developed in her fifth year when Harry was participating in the Triwizard tournament. She had learned about the Muggle product “Icy Hot” the summer before their fourth year and had mastered a magical equivalent. She had made a tidy sum selling it first to the quidditch teams at Hogwarts, and then to the international quidditch teams once Victor had spread the word. Few people knew that her fortune easily rivaled Harry’s. 

“Merlin, yes.”

“I’m not an expert, but I’ll do what I can. Do you mind lying on the floor?”

Remus stretched out on the floor in front of the fire, and Hermione knelt beside him. When she was younger, with Ron, Harry, and her friends on the team, she would have immediately have straddled their back because the position provided the best leverage, but it seemed too much intimacy with Remus, particularly when she very much would like to be straddling other parts of him. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was there to help him relax and feel better, and not indulge her own likely unwelcome fantasies. Exhaling out her disappointment, she focused and got to work. 

She started with long broad strokes, relatively gentle, that ran the length of his back as she tried to get a sense of where he carried his tension. The answer seemed to be “all over” as his back felt like a brick wall. She started from the top, working in light circles, gradually increasing pressure so that the muscles didn’t tense up around her as she worked them. She moved up and down his back until she could feel his muscles start to give, and then she started again from his shoulders, chasing knots until he finally started to relax. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been working, but as she eased back, she became aware of pressure and tension that had gathered in her own back. She stretched, cat-like, working out the kinks until she felt she could stand. 

Remus still lay on the ground and Hermione looked down at him, aware that he was silent and unmoving. “Remus,” she asked, her voice soft so as not to startle the werewolf, “did I put you to sleep?” 

“No,” came his gruff reply, “but I’m just going to stay here for a while.”

Hermione smiled. “Good idea. Take your time. I’ll go get you a glass of water.”

When she was safely out of ear shot, Severus asked quietly, “Hard on?”

“Raging hard on. Thorough indeed.”

Severus chuckled softly. 

“We’ve got to make a move,” Remus said. “I can’t keep on like this.”

Severus smirked, “I don’t think we’ve been handling it that badly.” Indeed, they’d spent fewer nights apart than ever since Ms. Granger joined the faculty, each working out their own sexual frustration at having her in their midst. It had not been an entirely unpleasant exercise. 

Severus looked down at the work in his lap. He was a quick reader, and Hermione had spent nearly an hour working on Remus’s back. Her hypothesis was not unreasonable. It was perhaps even plausible. It was, Merlin help him, too much to risk with a romantic entanglement, especially given her feelings about the last Potions Master who had tried. She needed a reliable Potions Master to guarantee the success of her work. A volatile relationship could ruin Remus’ chances of a painless transformation. The work in front of him could end the agony of his dearest friend, his only friend. He would not risk that for a romantic lark, not even for Hermione Granger. If they were successful… if they were successful, then yes, absolutely, but he would have to be patient for now. 

“You make the move. Ease her in. If she’s interested, I’ll join later.”

At this, Remus did look up. “You’re kidding.”

Severus sneered. “I do not ‘kid.’”

“Severus—“

“Here’s your water!” Hermione said, setting the glass down beside Remus on the floor. 

Severus glared at Remus, who looked back, helpless. 

Hermione looked between them, realizing she’d missed something. She hoped she hadn’t made trouble for Remus by giving him the back rub. Perhaps Severus was a jealous lover?

“Well, I’m going to turn in,” Hermione said, backing away from the couple. 

Severus looked at Remus and glanced pointedly at Hermione, and then back at Remus. Remus understood, standing. He said, “I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Oh- no need.”

“Please, I insist.”

Hermione looked helplessly between the two, and nodded. She walked out the door, allowing Remus to follow.

As soon as the portrait, an Irish wolfhound and young man walking on a moor, slid shut, Hermione turned to Remus. “I don’t want to make trouble.”

Remus’s eyes widened for a brief second before he smiled. “You know, you’re too clever by half.” His posture was tall and easy, the perpetual slight hunch of his shoulders no where in evidence. The massage had its desired effect. 

He turned and continued walking, capturing Hermione’s hand as he went. “You have nothing to be afraid of on that score.”

“I saw-“

“You saw him instructing me to pursue you in no uncertain terms.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth once, twice, before saying, “If you don’t want—“

Remus looked around quickly to ensure there were no students about. It was nearly midnight, but he’d been a Marauder and knew what students with more balls than brains were capable of. The halls where clear and the professors’ quarters far from the rooms of students, but still he pulled Hermione into a sheltered alcove. “Let me be very clear. I want you.” He closed his eyes, seeking control before opening them again. It was difficult to find control this close to the full moon, and he knew when he opened his eyes, they would be wolf amber. He opened them anyway. “I want you very very badly.”

His mouth was on hers, hot and enticing, demanding, lips and teeth and tongue all seeking purchase. His hands roamed her body. She met him, her lips sliding against his, her teeth nipping at his lower lip and nearly bringing him to his knees. He wanted to touch her skin, but knew that if he allowed himself that pleasure here, now, chances were far too high he’d take her up against a hallway wall. Instead he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. 

“If… If I follow you back to your room, I may not leave. It’s too close to the moon. Tell me to go back to my rooms now.”

Hermione looked up at him, her pupils blown wide with desire. He could smell it rolling off her in waves. “Remus, would you come back to my rooms?” 

“Gladly.”

Hermione’s rooms were’t far. Professors unattached to a House all lived in one of the smaller towers, as far from the students as possible. It was a short trip down a hall and up a circular staircase to Hermione’s rooms. Hermione gave her password, “Rhea,” to the buxom Renaissance maiden, and Remus was surprised. “Rhea” was the name of the mother of the twins Romulus and Remus, for whom he was named. He wondered if Hermione was aware of the connection, or if her password had some other significance. 

As soon the portrait swung closed behind them, Hermione turned to him and looked up, her eyes still wide, her hands resting on his chest. She felt small facing him, aware of the many inches he had on her in both height and breadth. Her eyes searched his, finding them still amber. “Remus,” she asked, “are you sure you want this?”

He closed the distance between them, cupping her face with his hands, meeting her eyes. “Yes.” His kissed her softly, sweetly. 

She pulled away. “Your eyes…”

“The wolf is close, but not in control, not making decisions. I don’t suddenly want you not because of a particularly good massage and a nod from Severus. These aren’t new feelings.”

“Severus-“

He kissed her. It wasn’t playing fair, but if they started talking Severus, they’d have a big conversation, and that wasn’t what he was interested in at this particular moment. He was interested in her skin, touching it, tasting in, licking and sucking, and seeing which particularly spots made her gasp and moan. He started nibbling on her lower lip, having noticed from earlier explorations that she liked that, and then worked his way down her jaw line. 

He started pulling up her shirt, determined to find the soft skin of her stomach, and she quickly helped, tugging the soft fabric over her head and casting it aside. He broke the kiss long enough to appreciate the view of a topless Hermione. She was stunning. Slender, with small breasts. A large mottled rope of purple scar tissue stretched across one side of her torso from her battle in the Department of Ministries, and and the faint but still legible scars still spelled out Mudblood on her arm, and she was beautiful to him, battle scars and all. 

He pulled his shirt off as well, revealing his scars to match her own. Scars from other werewolves don’t ever fade, though his body healed from most other injuries supernaturally fast. He had a sizable collection of scars across his muscled torso and broad shoulders, and Hermione took her time touching and exploring, each soft touch and kiss and lick driving him slowly insane. 

“We need to find the bed,” He growled, “Before I take you on the floor.”

“Would the floor be so bad?” Hermione laughed.

“Depends,” he said. “How do you feel about rug burn?”

“Sexy. But I’ll pass.” She tugged him through a door and into her bedroom. He saw nothing but the bed, and quickly picked up the little witch and placed her in the middle of it. He said a quiet spell and his trousers and pants were off, folded neatly in a chair, and hers as well. 

Remus paused. “Are you on a contraceptive potion?” 

Hermione cursed. “No. I’m not. Haven’t had much need.”

Remus cursed, but went to his trousers and pulled a condom from his wallet. Hermione raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. “Better safe than sorry?” Remus asked, a little sheepish. 

Hermione laughed. “Amen. And I’ll start brewing a contraceptive potion in the morning.”

Sorted, Remus faced Hermione on the bed. “You should be on top. It’s better- safer- this close to the full moon.” Remus smiled, running a slow hand down Hermione’s naked body, caressing one bared breast. “And I like the view.”

Hermione thought back to her earlier fantasy of straddling Remus and shivered in anticipation. Looking at him now, naked beside her, she wanted. She desperately wanted, and couldn’t believe she was finally about to fulfill this particular fantasy. For years she had been dreaming about this professor, as she climbed on top of him, positioning his large, and- Oh Merlin- THICK- cock at her entrance, she was afraid she have her first orgasm before she even started moving.

She slid down onto his cock slowly, letting it stretch her. She wasn’t a virgin, but it had been a very long time since she’d been intimate, and none of her partners had been as well endowed as Remus. She was gasping and aching with the sensation, feeling almost too full, and grateful that he’d given her control of the situation. She rose until only his tip was still inside her before impaling herself again, in and out, in and out, a slow and glorious torture until she though she would explode at the feeling. 

She added a slight rotation of her hips, and Remus moaned at the added sensation. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”

“Le petit mort,” Hermione gasped. 

Remus barked a laugh. Using the pad of his thumb, he brushed against Hermione’s clit at she lowered herself again. The pressure was building, and she couldn’t keep her pace slow any longer. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against Remus’s chest as she rode him, her clit brushing against his pubic bone and the sensation driving her closer and closer to the edge. 

She exploded, tossing her head back and crying out her orgasm. 

Remus wasted no time. He flipped her over, so that her back was on the bed and he was now on top of her. He lifted her legs, so that each was braced against his arms, and started pumping into her, his pace unrelenting and his thumb on her clit keeping pace with his cock until he felt her muscles clamp tight a second time as another orgasm ripped through her. She screamed his name, and only then did he he let go and give in to his own pleasure, his eyes glowing bright amber the whole time. 

At last, he collapsed on top of her pulling her tight against him, inhaling deeply the scent of their lovemaking.   
She exhaled shakily, and Remus realized she was trembling. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, pushing her away so he could get a good look at her. “Did I hurt you?”

He looked her up and down, as she shook her head. “No, not hurt. Just, adjusting.”

“Adjusting?” Remus asked. 

“Adjusting,” Hermione said firmly, and Remus was relieved to see a twinkle in her eye. “It’s been a long while since I’ve had sex, and that was more and better than anticipated. I’m adjusting, both bodily, and in terms of expectation.”

Remus used a spell Hermione was unfamiliar with to remove the condom and summon towels for them to clean up. To her surprise, he didn’t immediately rise and dress. Instead, he came back to her bed and laid down beside her, pulling her close again. She draped a leg over his, and nuzzled his chest hair, enjoying the feel of a large, warm man beneath her, while he traced spiral shapes down her back. 

After a long silence, Hermione asked, “Will you tell me about Severus?”

“That depends,” Remus said. 

“On what?” Hermione asked.

“Will you tell me about your dissertation?”

Hermione spent a short moment gaping like a fish before she responded, “I forgot for a moment that you were the brains of the Marauders.”

“You’d be surprised how many people make that mistake.” 

Hermione was quiet for a long moment weighing her options. Telling Remus about her dissertation had the potential to reveal more than she was comfortable with, but she was asking him to answer a very private question as well. She had just slept with the man. If she could trust him with her body, shouldn’t she also trust him with her mind?

“Deal.”

Remus nodded and answered, “Severus and I have been friends since the war, and, privately, lovers on and off, more on than off, for about six years. We pursue other partners, and are by no means exclusive, but when others go, we tend to come back to each other. He would probably say it’s a matter of convenience, but there’s genuine affection on both sides. Our relationship is very discrete and I honestly don’t think either of us have discussed it openly with anyone. Minerva likely has guessed.”

He continued tracing those delicious spirals, and Hermione found it hard to focus only on his words. 

“And he encouraged you to pursue this? Us?”

Hermione was looking up and was delighted to see Remus blush. “He’s known me a long time. I haven’t made my desire for you a secret, now nor before.”

“Before?”

The spirals paused.

“Before.”

It was Hermione’s turn to start tracing spirals in Remus’s chest hair. “How long before?”

There was a long silence. Remus closed his eyes as Hermione continued her finger’s pursuits. “Longer than I probably ought to admit.”

Hermione smiled into Remus’s shoulder. “Before or after your ill-fated relationship with Tonks?” 

He made a noise, but didn’t answer, so Hermione leaned over and bit his nipple, gentle, but enough teeth to leave a mark.

“You really are trying to kill me. I don’t remember precisely. Probably Bill’s wedding, you were wearing lavender dress robes and you looked like the goddess Diana.”

“Didn’t you break it off with Tonks right after?”

“Yes.”

Hermione didn’t ask if there was a direct cause/effect relationship. She didn’t want to know. 

“Your dissertation?” Remus prompted. “I know Severus has been hounding you for weeks, and you finally gave in. Stop licking my nipple. I know you’re trying to distract me.” He closed his eyes for a long moment and opened them again. 

“It’s been a bit of a passion project, figuring out how to improve on a potion I learned about in school, but we never brewed.”

“Wolfsbane.” Remus said, his eyebrows rising in question. It would explain Severus’s interest, and Hermione’s difficulty with her advisor. The bias against werewolves was almost universal, but particularly nasty in America, where there had been a large pack that had terrorized the American west for nearly a century until they were wiped out shortly after the American Civil War. 

Hermione nodded, stroking her fingers through his chest hair in a way that made him want to stretch out on top of her and take her again already. “Wolfsbane. It’s all in my thesis—“

“Which I will read, but not tonight.”

Hermione smiled. “My dissertation was trying to figure out how to improve it, make the transformations less painful, give the werewolf more control of their faculties, require fewer doses in the lead up to each full moon, perhaps less expensive ingredients, a less complex potion, basically make Wolfsbane more accessible.”

He found his throat tight. Such a potion… it would be life changing for so many of those afflicted with lycanthropy. “And were you successful?”

“Maybe? Theoretically. I could not get access to the ingredients I needed, and I’ve never brewed the potion before. My Arithmancy checks out, my interpretations of the Ancient Runes are Masterful. But I need access to a true Potions Master and a world class lab. Severus has agreed to help me brew the potion. It’s the only way to know for sure.”

“I’ll test it.”

“Remus…”

“You need a test subject. You were going to ask me eventually.”

She looked up to find his blue eyes peering down at her, intently focused on her own. She knew she couldn’t talk him out of it. He was a Gryffindor, bold, brave, and chivalrous or reckless. She could only hope to make him understand the potential cost and hope she hadn’t colossally messed up. “It could be dangerous,” she said. “My calculations call for nearly a full gram more aconite.”

He continued looking into her eyes, and his went wide as realization dawned. He said, “You weren’t going to ask me to test it.”

“Not if I could help it, no.”

“Why?” 

Hermione looked away, unable to maintain his gaze. “I have literally no idea how the next weeks or months will work out. I don’t know if the potion will work as I hope, or if it will require minor adjustments, or months of arduous testing, or years of further research. Damocles killed six werewolves in the course of his research. I’m rather attached to you.”

He sneered. “So you’d prefer to find some poor expendable werewolf.”

“Remus!” She pulled away, putting inches between them and leaving them both cold where before there had been only delicious warmth. She gathered the blanket around herself and looked away. “I had hoped to find someone to work with with whom I had some level of professionalism and emotional distance. Someone I could fully explain the dangers to, and if, Merlin forbid, something happened, I could at least console myself that they were fully aware of what they were entering into and not involved because they felt some emotional entrapment due to friendship or… or anything…” 

She didn’t look up at him then. She was too afraid of the emotions he would see in her eyes, and it was too much, too soon to give herself away. She began collecting her clothing, having used the seconds of her explanation to back out of the bed. She pulled on her leggings, and tugged her sweater on over her head. She wasn’t sure where her underthings had gotten to, but there was time yet to find them. How could he think so little of her? How could he believe that she would think so little of him or others of his kind? Did he know her at all?

Remus stood as well, still naked and not bothering to hide his nudity. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Remus—“ Hermione stood, her socks clutched limply in one hand. 

“I wasn’t thinking.” He stepped forward, pulling her into his arms when she didn’t resist his touch. “I know you don’t think werewolves are expendable—”

“I think… I think maybe you should go.”

“Hermione.”

“Now. Please.”

She heard the door to her chamber close and Hermione closed eyes, letting tears and her socks fall silently. It was too much, too many emotions too quickly for her to handle. She had wanted Remus for so long, since she was barely more than a girl. She had dedicated eight years of her life to trying to better his, and to now to have slept with him, fought with him, it was overwhelming. She had given too much of her life to Remus Lupin. What if she’d just ruined everything? Did it change anything if they if they crashed and burned? He had Severus Snape if all went wrong. What did she have? Nothing. She curled up in her bed, the bed that still smelled of Remus and sex, and cried herself to sleep.


	4. Conversations with Severus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Severus finally get some quality time together. It doesn't go as planned.

“I’ve managed to cock it all up already,” Remus said. 

Severus looked up from the tome he was reading, already nearly half way through Hermione’s dense dissertation, at the clock on the wall. “It took you fewer than two hours to manage. Record timing.”

“I appreciate your warmth, your ability to support me in my darkest hours, and how you’ve always provided a shoulder to lean on. You’re a true friend, Sev.”

“Always. Now, if you don’t mind crying elsewhere, I’m busy.”

“I mean it. She’s already kicked me out.”

“Well, if you worked on your bedroom technique…”

“Sev—“ the werewolf literally growled.

“Remus, go to bed. Make a grand gesture or something in a day or two. Let me read.”

~*~

She woke up the next morning when a soft voice said, “There’s a Professor Snape here to see you, Mistress,” It was the painting, the outermost layer of her wards. Hermione opened eyes that felt like sandpaper. Her head ached, and her mouth tasted stale and awful. Her skin felt over stretched and she wanted nothing so much as as shower and a toothbrush. 

“Allow him into my sitting room,” Hermione called. “And let him know I’ll need fifteen minutes.”

Hermione was still wearing her leggings and sweater from last night. She stripped them off quickly in the bathroom and took care of morning ablutions. She braided her wet curls into a loose braid and charmed it to stay in place, and pulled on another tunic and leggings for the day. She completed the outfit with tall boots and was ready. A glance in the mirror showed her that her eyes were still red and puffy from her crying jag last night, but there was little that could be done if she didn’t want to take the time with more charms or makeup, and Severus was likely growing impatient. 

“Severus,” Hermione said, entering her sitting room, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I’ve read your bloody novel,” Severus said without preamble.

“All of it?” Hermione asked. 

“Yes.”

“Even the charts?” 

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep?” She asked, noting the purple circles under her friend’s eyes. 

“No. That’s unimportant. I believe it could work. I’m going shopping in Diagon Alley for ingredients. Would you care to join me?”

It wasn’t what Hermione had expected, but the offer certainly beat a day moping in the castle or grading papers, and it was the perfect way to avoid Remus without seeming to do so. “Yes!”

~*~

It took Hermione fewer than ten minutes after stepping out of the floo in the Leaky Cauldron to realize she’d made a mistake. The whispers started almost immediately, first at a low hum, her name often repeated. She pulled her hood up, but it was too late. Mouths disappeared behind hands and word spread up and down the streets that Hermione Granger was back.

“This is absurd. Every eye in Diagon Alley is on us, and will be reporting our every move to the Daily Prophet. We need to make this trip as innocuous and unconscionably boring as possible,” Severus murmured, using his hair to screen the comment. “Miss Granger, have you any shopping to do?”

“As it just so happens…”

After a quick stop at Gringott’s, during which Hermione felt scrutinized by every goblin in the bank—they had never forgotten that little robbery incident with the dragon—the duo went from shop to shop, picking what they needed.

Despite her hood, people found them. It was impossible to miss that the press of people in Diagon Alley was thickest around her and Severus. Severus led the way down the street, his scowl keeping the growing press of people from getting too close, but he was only one man, and people were considerably less afraid of him once Harry had spread the word that he’d been working for Dumbledore all along. People followed them into each store, crowding them and eyeing their purchases. Hermione felt like her skin was crawling under the scrutiny. She wished she’d at least done the charms to make her eyes less puffy.

She wished Remus was with them. He would have been an extra body between her and the press, and he understood her dislike of the crowds. He would have been the right balance of encouraging without being coddling or condescending. Or perhaps not, Hermione reminded herself. Remus was not the paragon she had thought him to be. 

“I think I will never shop with you again, if it’s always like this,” Severus sneered, and Hermione wasn’t sure if the sneer was for her, or for the woman who had stepped too close and was trying to get a picture of the two of them as they stepped out of Madame Malkin’s. 

“Afraid of the crowd?” Hermione asked. She was glad he didn’t show concern. His sneer stiffened her spine, making her fight back where his concern might have made her give in and go back to the castle. “Oh! Could we stop in at Flourish and Blots? I haven’t been into a decent bookstore in ages.”

“So demanding.”

“Would you have me any other way?”

“Likely not.”

“Some of the ingredients in Wolfsbane can’t be bought in Diagon Alley. I’ll need to get them in Knockturn and you can’t be seen there,” Severus said quietly as he steered Hermione into Flourish and Blots, his hand warm and lingering on her back. “Does the modified potion need anything special?”

“No. Same ingredients. But buy enough to make about four batches, and a full gram of the aconite for each batch.” 

“A full gram?” Severus asked, his eyes widening a fraction— a sign of shock on the former spy. 

“Yes.”

“I see.” They spent over an hour in the bookstore, wandering slowly, allowing the crowd to grow bored and dissipate before they went shopping for potions ingredients. 

At last, Hermione stopped in to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to say hello to George and spent some time catching up with her friend while Severus procured more obscure ingredients from Knockturn Alley. 

“I heard you had a right crowd following you around,” George said, peering out the door behind Hermione. 

“They mostly got bored,I think,” Hermione said around a sugar quill. She glanced out the window where a few people were looking in curiously, but there was no sign of the thick crowds that had originally dogged their heels. 

“Would have appreciated it if you had let them get bored here first rather than down the street,” George grumbled. 

“Sore for business?” Hermione asked, examining the gold buttons on George’s coat.

George broke into a wide grin. “Not doing so bad as all that, but would never say no to a few dozen extra customers…”

“Next time I create a commotion in the street, I promise to lead them right to your door,” Hermione said with mock-gravity. 

“You’re a saint.”

“So,” Hermione said, “I desperately need a cup of tea, and then you should tell me everything I’ve missed.”

George happily obliged, going one further and closing his shop for an hour while he settled in for a good gossip. True to form, he regaled her with stories of Bill and Flur’s beautiful and wild children causing absurd mischief and driving their mother out of her mind at Shell Cottage. He shared stories of his own herd of miscreants with his wife, Katie Bell. Ron and Lavender’s children were, in George’s humble opinion, a little dim, but would perform adequately as foils for their cousins at Hogwarts someday, and Charlie’s were riding dragons in Romania with names no one could properly pronounce. Percy was convinced his oldest would be in Ravenclaw, and he boasted about it at all the family dinners. Prat. It was a delightful hour, filled with George’s wicked good humor, and when Severus came to collect her, Hermione promised to visit again soon. She’d forgotten how much she liked Weasleys. 

~*~ 

“Hermione, a moment, before you return to your rooms.”

“Of course. What can I do for you?” 

“Set your things down. What can I pour for you?”

“Oh. We’re having a chat,” Hermione said, setting down her bags. She only had a couple of books. Most of her purchases would be delivered later by special delivery. “Scotch then.”

“Yes. We’re having a chat.”

“About Remus.”

“Among other things, yes.”

“I didn’t figure you for meddling.”

“Only on special occasions. I’m not Dumbledore to do so for fun and sport.” Severus set two fingers of Scotch down on a table next to where Hermione had curled up into and over stuffed armchair. She looked pensive and a little angry, not the best start to a conversation. Briefly, Severus considered tact, but he’d found it best if he was direct with the young witch. 

“What happened last night?” Severus asked. 

“Remus asked me about my dissertation. I told him about my improvements to Wolfsbane, and he got angry with me because I told him I didn’t want him to test the potion. He accused me of thinking that werewolves on the whole were expendable. As though there’s somehow a lesser race! Me! I just… I couldn’t believe he’d think that of me. I asked him to leave.”

“Clearly, he missed S.P.E.W. and your relationship with Dobby. And your personality.”

Hermione took a sip of her scotch and held the liquid on her tongue, savoring the burn. “Yes, rather.”

“Your compassion for others is perhaps your defining characteristic, next only to your powerful intellect. It’s an incredibly compelling combination.” 

Hermione looked up at Severus to find his eyes fixed on her. He had a tumbler in his had and was methodically rolling it back and forth in his palms. “Severus?” She licked her lips, and his eyes snagged on the movement. “I don’t understand what’s going on here. I thought you and Remus—“

“Remus and I are lovers and have been for years. But I read your dissertation last night. Do you know how long it has been since I’ve read something by someone who is quite possibly my intellectual equal? Perhaps even my better? Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy that is?”

“What?”

“Sexy. Intoxicating. Desirable. Remarkable.”

Hermione took a large sip of her drink. “I thought you were going to tell me to forgive Remus.”

“I think you’re being unfair to him. You’re an incredibly private person who has purposely evaded speaking about herself in recent years, and at earlier times when Remus would most have had a chance to get to know you, he was an adult and Professor who needed to hold himself at a professional distance, you were a child and much over-shadowed by Harry Potter and the war. In reality, he’s had perhaps six weeks to truly make your acquaintance. Last night, he was angry and rash and overreacted, not uncommon given our proximity to the next full moon. For all that you’re intelligent and compassionate, you have a temper, and you were both he victim of it.”

“Now I’m really confused.” Hermione studied her drink, hoping for answers. Finding none there, she peered into Severus’ dark eyes. “Are you trying to seduce me or talk me into taking him back?”

“Both.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You’re a brilliant witch Hermione”

“In the classroom. I can do complicated magical equations with the best of them and recite entire chapters of Hogwarts: A History, but it’s no secret that my vaunted intellect has often left me high and dry in the realm of social niceties. And this isn’t even basic level interchanges, but a far more complicated high-level byplay, and I confess to being a bit at sea. Last I knew, you were giving Remus permission to pursue me.”

“Just so. I was going to wait, let you two get established, and focus on building rapport with you in the potions lab, since you and Remus already had an established friendship. Eventually, he would tell you about the two of us—though clearly you have guessed—and if you seemed intrigued by that relationship, and interested in me, then we’d broach the topic of a polyamorous relationship.”

“Sex with three people?”

“That would be a menage a trois, and certainly that would be part of it, but not the whole. Friendship. Support. Emotion. The whole thing. Remus really should have been the person to broach the subject.”

“Why the change of plan?”

“I mentioned I read your dissertation. Your intellect is an incredible turn on, and I spent the entire day with you and discovered I would not mind doing the same again tomorrow, and the next day. And you fought with Remus. I am well aware that you are capable of holding a grudge—“ her eyes narrowed and he held up a hand to stop her from interrupting, “so I judged it best to make our intentions clear.”

“I do not hold a grudge.”

“The incident with the Ronald Weasley and the birds? I believe you also didn’t speak to him for some time after.”

“How on earth?”

“I was a spy, Hermione. And it was hardly a secret.”

Hermione finished her drink. Severus filled her glass again. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” She asked. 

“Your shoulders have crept up to the vicinity of your earlobes. I’m trying to relax you. Usually scotch helps, although if memory serves, you prefer a Manhattan. Give me your glass.” 

Severus stood, taking Hermione’s cup over to the side bar where he opened a couple of bottles. Hermione purposely relaxed her shoulders. She really needed to get back into yoga. She’d been so good in graduate school about maintaining her practice, but she’d really let herself go since coming back to Hogwarts. She wondered briefly if the Room of Requirement could do a yoga studio. 

“Not bad,” Hermione said, taking a sip of her proffered drink. It was sweet on her tongue and burned pleasantly down her throat. “I though Remus was the one who made prohibition cocktails.”

“I’m a Potions Master.”

“Point.”

Hermione sighed. She took a second large sip and coughed before setting her cup down. She appreciated what he was doing. She appreciated the truth, the candor, but she just couldn’t sign up for a relationship or whatever this was. “I haven’t been in a relationship with one person since Ron, and that lasted less than a month and was terrible. I’m not sure I can do a relationship at all successfully. Let alone a relationship with two men. Remus and I need some time to figure things out.”

“Be that as it may, we—“

She waved her hands, her shoulders slumped. “No. No. Let’s not. Let’s not gloss over my valid concerns. Let’s not fall into bed. Let’s not pretend my night with Remus didn’t happen. I’m not that drunk, and currently not that interested.” She stood, hoping she could make it to the door on her own two feet. 

Severus stood as well, his spine stiff and his lips thin with his displeasure. “Ah. I see.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And I’ve upset you. Severus, you’re lovely. If I hadn’t fought with Remus yesterday, I’m sure I’d be more interested in you, so please don’t take this personally. It’s been eight years since I’ve had a relationship. You’ve just asked a person who has never managed more than simple addition to try calculus. But you don’t know what calculus is because you never went through the muggle school system. I’m going to bed.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Remus start to patch things up.
> 
> Thank you all for comments and kudos. They're definitely the best writing motivation. Again, I beta read this myself, so all mistakes are my own. I own nothing.

Severus sat alone, staring at the chair and the half empty tumbler of liquor where Hermione had been sitting. Frustration boiled over and he cast his own glass into the flames and watched the flare and roar as the glass shattered its contents on the logs. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to do something stupid and dangerous and violent. Instead, he went to find Remus. 

The werewolf wasn’t difficult to find. He was alone in his quarters, diligently catching up on grading at his old wooden desk. Severus stood before the desk, barely waiting for Remus to acknowledge him before making his confession and seeking absolution. 

“You did what?” Remus asked, his voice pitched high with incredulity.

“I tried to seduce her and told her about our plan for a polyamorous relationship and was roundly rejected.”

“You tried to seduce her?” Remus’s pitch had dropped from high incredulity to low growl on these words. 

Perhaps… perhaps he had misjudged. “Unsuccessfully,” he hedged, suddenly grateful that he had not succeeded. Would Remus have forgiven him for succeeding? “And only to move us forward in our plan.”

Remus closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were wolf yellow. “Why did she reject you?” Moony asked. 

Severus gulped, suddenly remembering that they were only a couple days from the full moon, and Moony still had an awful lot of control over Remus’ actions. He knew the stakes were high, that Remus could walk out the door—or throw him out, these were Remus’ rooms after all— and make a permanent choice that didn’t include him. Perhaps he should have waited for daylight to make his confession to his friend. “She hasn’t had a relationship in years. She wanted to see if she could manage a relationship with you first. She agreed that things didn’t go well last night.”

“She said that? That she wanted to try with me?”

“She said you two need time to figure things out.”

“Close enough.” 

Remus shifted his weight, moving toward the door, but Severus was fast too. He moved to block the way between Remus and the door. Something in him knew that if Remus left…if Remus left, Severus might lose the only relationship in his life that genuinely mattered. 

“Not tonight. Give her time,” Severus cautioned. 

Remus ran his hands through his hair and turned, pacing with nervous energy. “I don’t want to,” he growled. 

“I know.”

“You tried to seduce her!” He accused. 

Severus looked for something to say, something witty or cutting, but he looked at Remus, Moony, and saw the pain in his eyes. The wrong words would do real damage. “I did. I was entirely honest with her about our hope of a polyamorous relationship. About our relationship. I also told her she should talk with you and give you a chance to get to know her better.”  
Remus paused in his pacing, looking at Severus. “So you just put everything out there. Laid us bare. What did she say?”

“I told you. She said she wasn’t ready, and she walked out.”

Remus looked up at his longtime lover. He could see the effect the night had taken on his friend. Severus’ dark eyes were lined with purple shadows. Care had worn lines across his forehead and drained the little remaining color from his usually pale cheeks. Part of him wanted to give comfort, and yet he felt incapable. How could he provide care, when he felt like a dish rag that had already been used, rung out, and discarded? 

“Firewhiskey.”

~*~

“I do believe you’ve been here now nearly two months, Hermione. How are classes going?” Minerva sat behind her heavy wooden desk, surrounded by portraits of Hogwarts’ former Headmasters and Headmistresses. It was Monday evening, and Hermione had planned to spend the evening collecting her notes on the Wolfsbane potion, but Minerva had summoned after dinner—which she had skipped to avoid Remus and Severus. She knew it was cowardly, but she just didn’t want to handle seeing them in public yet. 

“It’s going well, I think. I don’t know why you insist on putting Gryffindors and Slytherins together. They will never get along. Wouldn’t Slytherins and Ravenclaws be a much more amicable pairing?”

“Yes, and that’s the problem. Slytherin/Ravenclaw is all intellect without the balance of humility and heart. Too much hubris by half. They will try anything to succeed, and damn the cost. And the Slytherins eat the poor Hufflepuffs alive.”

Hermione thought for a long moment, mentally testing the iterations until she was certain of the logic. “I see.” 

“I thought you might.”

“Headmistress—“

“Please, in private, you may call me Minerva.”

“Oh,” Hermione flushed with warmth at this gesture. It felt good to be considered a friend by someone she had so long held in such high regard. “Minerva, then.” She smiled, and her smile was answered by the older woman. “I have a strange request. Is there an additional space in the castle that I could use as a private potions lab? I have a project I’d like to work on, and my private quarters don’t provide enough room or ventilation.”

“And Severus won’t let you use his?”

Hermione flushed a bit at the question and hoped the headmistress didn’t notice. “He has his own projects, and I don’t want to be in his way, nor always under foot. He’s a deeply private person.”

Hermione was silent, waiting for Minerva to make her next move in their little chess game. 

“I do believe we have a space. I’ll have it prepared and have the castle arrange for it to adjoin your quarters tomorrow.” Hermione filed that piece of information away, as she hadn’t known that Hogwarts was capable of such rearrangements on demand, and had always assumed such rearrangements in the past were a whim of the ancient building. 

“And speaking of Severus, how are you findings thing with the teachers? Are you settling in socially?”

“Of course. I’ve met up with Neville and Luna a few times. Rolf seems lovely, though we haven’t had much of a chance to connect.”

Minerva gave her a look.

Hermione mentally rolled her eyes, knowing better than to give into the urge to do so in front of her mentor. “Of course you know I’m friendly with Severus and Remus.”

“Friendly?”

“Friendly.”

“You and Severus chaperoned Hogsmeade and then took a trip together to Diagon Alley the next day.”

“Well, yes. Many teachers chaperone the Hogsmeade weekends, and we both needed potion ingredients. We’re both Potions Masters, you see.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow. 

Hermione mirrored her expression. 

“Hermione,” came Professor Dumbledore’s wizened voice from his portrait, “What Professor McGonagall is trying to ask whether either of them has made a move. A number of the professors have an awful lot of money riding on this, and I am desperately curious.”

“I—what?”

“Albus! Honestly!” Minerva scolded. “Have you never heard of tact?” She glanced at Hermione. “Though I do admit to some measure of curiosity.”

Hermione looked around and realized that she was surround by a number of ears. Had it been only Minerva who listened, she might have confided, but years of closely guarded privacy could not be so readily set aside. She blushed furiously and said nothing. 

A number of the portraits muttered their annoyance, and Minerva pursed her lips and sighed. She didn’t quite manage to disguise the disappointment in her voice when she said, “Well, so long as it doesn’t interfere with your teaching, it’s truly not my concern.” She held up a hand, seeing Hermione’s mouth already opening. “No, it hasn’t interfered yet, and by no means would you be the first teacher at this august institution to enter into a consenting relationship with a colleague.” 

Hermione didn’t miss the way the older witch’s eyes lingered on the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who twinkled back. 

“Allow me to offer you some words of unsolicited advice. Both Remus and Severus are good men. Neither will be easy to have a relationship with, for different reasons, but they are good men nonetheless, and quite good…friends to each other.”

Minerva was quite a long moment, gathering her thoughts before continuing. “I’m not going to ask where you stand with them, or what has been proposed. I will say that I am given to understand that the Muggle world is quite attached to the concept of monogamy. Our community is less so. Perhaps in the families particularly obsessed with bloodline, a pair will wait until the line has been maintained before other pursuits. Certainly, some wizards are monogamous, but triads and non-monogamous marriages are not uncommon.”

Hermione gaped like a fish. This was not at all the conversations she expected to have and her brain felt sluggish as it processed this new information, leaving her at a complete loss for words. 

“Well,” Minerva said briskly. “Think on it, and if you need to discuss with someone, I’m here so long as you don’t mind all these nosey old biddies. And if you do mind them, I’m happy to take tea with you in your quarters.”

Hermione nodded, made her excuses, and fled. 

~*~

Hermione was lost in thought on the way back toward the teachers’ quarters, and realized it was a mistake when she literally bumped into Remus outside her quarters.

“You weren’t just ignoring me then?” Remus asked, a half smile on his face. 

“What?”

Remus gestured at the painting that guarded the entrance to Hermione’s rooms.“Maeve said you weren’t in. I half expected you told her to say that to me whether you were in your rooms or not.”

Hermione had in fact given the portrait those exact orders, but chose not to say anything on the subject. “I was meeting with Minerva,” she answered instead. She looked the werewolf over. His cheeks looked hollow, and his eyes bloodshot, likely from not sleeping enough and their relative proximity to the full moon. Hermione frowned, remembering Minerva’s comments and the curious eyes of the portraits in the hallways. “Would you like to come in?”

He ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Yes. Sure.”

When Remus had last entered the room, he’d been too distracted to take a good look around. This time, as he tried to avoid Hermione’s gaze, he had the opportunity. Her walls were whitewashed, a rarity for Hogwarts, and she must have specially requested it of the house elves. Her rooms were smaller than his. She had a small sideboard, a fireplace with two armchairs—there was no sofa in the sitting room adjacent to her bedroom. There was no art on the walls, only bookshelves full of books. He was surprised to find her space spartan. There were none of the little knickknacks people acquired over time, no snow globes or statues to remind Hermione of her time in America or her Hogwarts days. Two photos on the mantel over her fireplace were the only decor, one of two adults who appeared to be in their forties, a woman with a mass of curls and a man with a perfect smile, probably her parents. The other smile was of Hermione, Harry, and Ron, sitting on the steps of a ruined Hogwarts. Hermione sat in the middle with her head resting on Harry’s shoulder, his head resting on top of hers. Each of the boys hold one of her hands, and Ron’s arm was slung around her shoulders in an embrace. The three look exhausted and dirty. Harry’s face is in Hermione’s curls, and Ron’s is likewise buried in her neck. It’s an intimate moment for the three of them, and none are aware that the photo is being taken. Remus had never seen the photo before, and he was grateful she had this private memory of the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts and the Year of Hell, as the Trio had taken to calling their would-be seventh year. 

“You wanted to talk?” Hermione asked, breaking into his study of the photograph.

“I did?” Remus asked, startled.

“You’re here. I mean, I suppose you could have just been moping outside of my room for fun.”

“No. Yes. Sorry.” Remus closed his eyes and reminded himself that he was actually a very intelligent and articulate person. “Could we sit down?” He gestured to the armchairs.  
Hermione shrugged and sat, sitting primly rather than adopting her usual pose of curling her feet under her. Remus saw her posture and understood that he was still in trouble.  
Remus looked down at his hands and started talking. “I’m not at my best before or just after the full moon. Moony has too much say three or four days before, and for two or three days after, I’m still catching up on sleep and my brain is foggy. I don’t mean to make excuses, but there you have it. I knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth that I’d gotten it wrong. I got you wrong. 

“I wasn’t there for your house elf campaign, but all of the Order knew about it, and Buckbeak, and your arguments to treat fairly with Griphook. You believe in treating others, all others whether they are Witch or Wizard or human or not, fairly and with compassion, and I know that. Trust me, as the Order’s resident werewolf, I was keenly aware. I was just… I made the mistake of forgetting that you were Hermione.”

Hermione reached over and touched Remus’s hand. “How long have you been working on that speech?”

“Pretty much since I left.”

They briefly made eye contact, and Hermione’s half-quirked smile matched Remus’.

“I’m not good at relationships,” Hermione said. Like Remus, she was studying her hands. “I have no idea what I’m doing. My last real relationship was with Ronald and lasted a month, and mostly consisted of me trying to explain to him why I had no interest in going at it on his mother’s couch.”

Remus barked a laugh at that. 

“This could be a catastrophic failure.”

“It could be,” Remus acknowledged, “Or not.” Remus looked up and scooted forward in his chair, taking Hermione’s hands in his. “I’m moody and irrational for about a week once a month and you’re inexperienced. Fine. Most adolescent relationships start with a similar premise and some of those even survive. We know know our shortcomings, so we know how to work around them. We also know that good relationships require open and honest communication, so let’s start there. In the five to seven days surrounding the full moon, I’ll need you to give me a little extra space, and be more forgiving if I do or say something that would otherwise be unpardonable.”

Hermione looked down at their joined hands where Remus’ thumb was gently stroking the back of her own. She took a deep breath and tried to repay his honesty with her own. “I’ll need you to be patient with me in general. I don’t know how this is done. Any of this. Together, separate, boundaries or not. It’s all new, and I admit that I don’t like not knowing, but all the books I’ve read on relationships have been rubbish.”

“That’s because they’re not about us.”

“I don’t know what to do about Severus.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m not ready for that yet. I’m not so sure about one relationship, let alone two.” 

“Then we’ll have one relationship.”

“But I know you two—“

“Yes, we are. In the past, our lovers haven’t known about our relationship. When we were seeing someone else, we were monogamous with that person, and if you want to be monogamous only with me, that’s what you’ll get. If you’re comfortable knowing that I am also in a relationship with Severus, then I’ll continue that relationship. If you want to be a part of that relationship, then you are more than welcome.”

Hermione chewed her lip as she weighed her options. She wasn’t sure if she’d be a jealous lover. She knew the men cared about each other and were important to each other, and she didn’t want to come between them. If she did, Severus would always be there, waiting in the wings for her and Remus to fall apart. Would he work with her if she tried to separate them? Could she work with him if she knew they were seeing the same man? She pictured Severus, sitting alone by his fire where he used to sit with Remus, remembering her own isolation and realized she couldn’t do that to someone else. She couldn’t see herself orchestrating someone else’s loneliness. 

Hermione shook her head. “This whole communication thing… it’s a little hard to get used to.”

“Indeed. Imagine trying to train Severus to it.”

“Dear Merlin. Have you had any success?”

“He’ll always be a work in progress, but we’re making strides. He did tell me about his ill fated attempt to seduce you.”

Hermione blushed and looked away. “Yes, well.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not falling into bed with him.”

“I thought you wanted me to fall into bed with him.”

“No. I want you to have a meaningful relationship with us, but particularly with me. Us is great, and if it happens, I would be ecstatic, but… I have admired and desired you for a very long time and would have been disappointed to find you so easily swayed.”

Hermione couldn’t help the desperate edge to the laughter the bubbled up. “This is all very confusing.”

Remus leaned forward and kissed her.


	6. Meditation?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets her potions lab, and more than she bargained for. 
> 
> I'm really bad at chapter summaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. I have about three more chapters written after this one, and am working on more. As usual, characters aren't mine, not making money, etc. 
> 
> Sorry for the delays between chapters. I try to delay posting until I've made narrative progress. I'm also in the midst of applying to grad school and have 5 major essays due in the next couple of months, so progress may be a little slow. Apologies!
> 
> Please leave comments--they're great at reminding me that I really need to write.

Hermione woke and reached for the warm body of the man who had fallen asleep beside her, only to find her bed empty and the sheets cool. He was gone, and had been for some time. Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of that fact, and could help the pang of hurt she felt at his absence. Last night had been incredible. Remus was a studious, careful, and athletic man, and those particular traits were delicious in the bedroom, particularly when in combination, and she had ached for a repeat performance. 

Instead, Hermione extracted herself from the sheets and padded toward the bathroom. If she couldn’t have a repeat of last night’s performance, that was no reason for her to be left unsatisfied. Ensconced in her bath, Hermione took matters into her own hands. 

Clean and satisfied, she dressed and headed toward her sitting room to make herself a cup of coffee before facing students in the Great Hall. Certainly, she could get coffee there, but she found she fared a little better if she faced the masses with caffeine already coursing through her system. She entered the sitting room and shrieked in surprise to find the room occupied by Severus Snape.

His lips twitched in a smirk, and Hermione scowled. “What are you doing here?”

“Minerva asked me to do a favor for her. You now have access to a laboratory. You should be thanking me.”

“Yes, well, you shouldn’t be in my sitting room.”

“I had to make sure your quarters were properly linked to the laboratory space. Magic, particularly old magic, and particularly in a space as sentient as Hogwarts, can be… ornery.”

A detail that Hermione had missed earlier finally caught her notice. “Wait, why were you creating the laboratory for me?”

Severus’ lips flattened and then relaxed, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. At last, with a shrug, his features cleared. “Hogwarts is… somewhat sentient, you understand? In the way of old things imbued with and incredible amount of magic.”

“Yes. Although some argue that it’s the magic itself rather than the structure that’s sentient.”

“Those who would make that argument would cease their inanities if they experienced what I have experienced.” His voice was droll, but Hermione caught the deep annoyance under his words. “The school, the building, this entity is more than the combination of spells that created it. One of the quirks that Hogwarts has developed over time are very strong feeling about who is Headmaster of this school, and what that Headmaster is capable of. In the year you decided to play hooky—“

Hermione nearly interrupted to point out that she wasn’t playing hooky, she was searching for and destroying the Horcruxes so that they could have any chance of winning the war, but Snape continued speaking right over her. 

“—I briefly served as Headmaster of Hogwarts and did everything in my power to ensure the students under this roof survived the school year. It was a close thing, particularly when Neville Longbottom decided to be ‘heroic.’ Nevertheless, I managed, and the school became attached.” His lips thinned again. “I stepped down, of course. But rather than allowing me my retirement and peace, Hogwarts refuses to transfer the powers of Headmaster to Minerva. So I’m stuck with them.”

“Is that so bad?” Hermione asked.

“I can feel the mood of the castle. I can affect the mood of the castle.” 

Hermione thought about what she knew of Snape. They were friendly, but he was still a deeply private person who valued his quiet and solitude as much as he valued their quiet nights together. It must rankle, she realized, to never have true privacy if the magic of the castle was always in his head. More than simply having a magical building keeping tabs on him, if his mood could affect the whole castle, what would happen if he sunk into one of his once common depressions? Hermione felt for the man. It was likely a very good thing that Remus and Severus had found each other. She couldn’t keep them apart. 

“Oh,” was all that Hermione said in reply. 

Severus looked at her closely and nodded, seeing that she had some level of understanding. 

“It also means that I’m the only person who can exert some level of control on the castle’s layout.”

“Where the stairs when we were students Dumbledore’s doing? I noticed they don’t move as often.”

“Consciously, I doubt it. Likely, their frequent motion was in some way enacting the chess game that Dumbledore was playing with the order on a grander scale.”

Hermione was fascinated. “You have fewer machinations, so the stairs move less?”

“Precisely.”

“So I now have a laboratory?” 

Severus gestured to a door that now existed in the middle of her book cases that had not been there last night. Hermione looked at him, then at the door. She crossed the room, opened the door, and looked at a gleaming, state of the art, potions lab.

“Oh my goodness, Severus. How? There is no way that Hogwarts had a fully equipped and immaculate laboratory lying about.”

“No. Technically, this is my laboratory, which I have expanded to ensure we both have room to work. If you have terrible habits like listening to loud music while you brew, or, Merlin help me, singing, you will need to cease immediately.”

Hermione looked up at him, trying and failing to keep the confusion from her face.

“I have direct access to the labs from my room still.” He gestured to a door across the lab. 

“How can a room be accessed by the third floor of the west tower, and the piece of the dungeons which extend under the lake on the north east side of the castle?” Hermione asked. 

“Magic,” Severus said. 

Hermione just shook her head. 

“You need to work with a Potion Master for your experiments. This way, we can work together as necessary and pursue our own projects. We can also coordinate brewing for the infirmary.”

“I need coffee. This is a lot to spring on a witch first thing in the morning.”

“When are you available to begin brewing?” Severus asked, following Hermione to her coffee station. “I will take a cup as well.”

Hermione had charmed a muggle coffee maker to work without the aid of electricity. She set the water boiling, while she considered her answer. “I need a day or two to pull my things together. My personal equations were hidden separately from my academic work— Graves didn’t respect intellectual property. I’ll need to see what I’ve done with my notes and check my work. We could start as early as Friday, but I have a double, so Saturday would be better. We’ll have plenty of time to finish and test before the next full moon.”

Severus’s lips tightened in his displeasure, but he said,“So be it.” 

Hermione poured them each a mug of coffee. To her own cup, she added a bit of milk. Severus took his black. 

~*~

On Saturday morning, after two cups of coffee, Hermione entered the lab. She had her notes, carefully transcribed and ready to share. Severus was already in the lab hunched over a bubbling cauldron. Hermione set one copy of her notes on the table next to him without interrupting. She didn’t want to cause him to lose count if he were working on a delicate potion. 

She pulled out her materials and set to work chopping ingredients. 

“You were not exaggerating the aconite,” Severus said after Hermione had set down her knife. 

She looked up to find that he had finished with his brew and cleaned out his cauldron. He was hunched over, reading her notes. 

“No. But check my equations. Maybe you’ll see something I missed.”

“What is a sabra?”

“Also known as opuntia, prickly pear, or cactus fruit, from the southwestern United States, also native to Israel and parts of the Middle East. It’s the edible fruit of a cactus, and acts to counter balance the poisonous effects of the aconite. I hope.”

“You hope?”

“According to my runes and Arithmancy. Remember, purely theoretical.”

“Fascinating. Let us begin.”

They worked together over one cauldron for the next three hours as they followed the first steps of Hermione’s Wolfsbane. Severus required Hermione to take all actions over the cauldron while he looked on, usually frowning. 

“What?” Hermione snapped when she couldn’t handle his disapproval any longer. 

“No need to get testy,” Severus commented mildly. “I cannot tell if you are purposefully not channeling your magic into your cauldron, or if you are incapable of doing so.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. What did he mean she wasn’t channeling her magic? 

He continued as though he’d read her mind. “Your magic. You’re hardly using it for more than keeping the potion together. I cannot fathom why at this stage you’d choose to ignore it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Clearly,” Snape drawled, and Hermione could hear the implied eye roll. 

Hermione stepped back from the cauldron and wiped her hands on the apron she usually wore when brewing. “Are you going to explain, or do you prefer to be self-satisfied in your superiority?”

“Both.”

Hermione glared.

“You brew like a student who has no idea how to control their magic. Have you learned nothing in America?”

Hermione gritted her teeth to keep from stabbing the man she was supposed to be learning from.

“No need to answer, I can see you did not. When developing a potion, or truly at any time, if you channel your magic into your potion, the magic guides the brewer toward the optimal brew—it’s how one can tell if one needs an additional quarter stir, or if it is better to finely dice rather than roughly chop a sabra, for instance. This is basic information for anyone hoping to be a Potions Master. I should call out Graves for not teaching you.”

“He tried to coerce me into a relationship, stole my intellectual property, and actively blocked my dissertation research, but failing to teach me to channel magic is what really sets your blood to boil?” 

Severus looked down his nose at her. “You cannot be a true Potions Master without this skill. Your dissertation is a bit of excellent research, but you are not a Potions Master, regardless of what some piece of paper declares. Without effectively channeling magic, you have wasted two years of your life and could never be anything more than mediocre. Yes, it ‘sets my blood to boil,’ and so it should yours.”

Hermione didn’t storm out of the room, but it was a very near thing. She did complicated multiplication until she was no long in danger of hexing the man in front of her. At last, she ground out, “Teach me.”

“How long should the potion simmer?”

“Six hours.”

“Then we can begin. Set your wand down.”

“How am I supposed to channel magic without my wand?”

“The wand is a crutch, and in your case it has led to a handicap. Put. Down. Your. Wand.”

Reluctantly, Hermione set down her trusty wand. 

“Good. Picture inside of yourself the core of your magic.” Severus walked Hermione through sensing the magic in her body, feeling and controlling it, yet Hermione resolutely felt nothing. They tried for an hour facing each other before Severus snapped, “Merlin witch! Have you never meditated?”

Hermione scowled. “No.”

“I don’t know how you survived your adolescence.”

Hermione bit back a response and glared instead. “Successfully,” she bit out. 

“You will learn to meditate. Without sensing the locus of your power, we cannot move forward. You may come back to the lab when you can light a candle without the aid of your wand.”

Hermione sputtered, and her chest tightened. She clenched and unclenched her fists with anger. “You’re kidding.”

“You wanted an effective Potions Master. You have one.”

Since the Battle of Hogwarts, she had never wanted to physically hurt another person so badly, not even the cad she’d worked with at Harvard. It occurred to her that she might be able to effectively cast Crucio if she tried. She fingered her wand before her rational brain put the breaks on. She took a deep breath, and then another. If she cast an unforgivable, Severus certainly wouldn’t consent to continue working with her, and she’d probably have to leave Hogwarts entirely. She took another breath and counted backwards from ten before she asked, “What about the potion?”

He smirked. “I will brew it until you can do so effectively.”


	7. Learning to Foucs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione must learn to meditate before Severus will allow her to continue work on her potion. Remus offers a unique pedagogical method. Chapter NSFW!

Hermione slammed into her room and was briefly startled to find Remus already there.

“He’s insufferable!” She declared. “And mad. I thought Severus Snape of all people would have a scientific view of the world!”

“I would rather say he does,” Remus said, looking up from the pile of essays he was grading.

“You would be mistaken!” Hermione declared.

“Oh?”

“He wants me to meditate! To find the core of my power! What a load of absolute rubbish. He won’t let me back into the lab until I can light a bleeding candle without my wand!”

Remus looked at Hermione, his expression open and frank. “Perhaps he knows something you don’t by virtue of his experience and expertise?”

Hermione let out a wordless snarl and stormed into her bedroom.

~*~

She did try to meditate. Her first attempt lasted less than two minutes before she gave up and strode furiously around the bedroom. Her second attempt was little better. Thoughts of her potion, left in potions lab and in the hands of another, kept distracting her. Her mind was just not meant to be clear, she decided, pacing. 

When she opened her eyes after her fifth furious attempt, Remus stood leaning against the door jam. In grey trousers that hugged his frame and a fitted black button down shirt, he looked relaxed and sexy, and even in Hermione’s frustrated state she could appreciate the picture he made. 

“Rather than trying to clear your mind, try focusing very hard. You might find that easier.”

“Focus on what?” Hermione demanded. 

With a small wave of his hand, Remus lit a candle on Hermione’s bedside table. Hermione glared at him for showing off. 

“Let’s try something,” he said. “I’d like to help you try and meditate, but it may feel like a trance. Do you trust me to do this? I will not take it amiss if the answer is no.”

Hermione looked at Remus. The man had an open, honest face, long and earnest, made more interesting by the long scars that cut diagonally across one side. Looking at his face, she felt her pulse start to increase in anticipation rather than fear, and she licked her lips. 

“Don’t do that, Love, or we’re going to have a hard time getting any work done tonight.”

“Do what?” Hermione asked, pretending innocence as she chewed on her lower lip. 

Remus strode forward and captured her lip with his, freeing it from the confines of her teeth. He made a noise that was somewhere between a whine and a growl when he pulled away a long moment later. 

“Meditate.”

“Hm.”

“You’re supposed to be meditating,” he repeated. His mouth was inches from her own, and Hermione found his proximity and the way his whole attention seemed entirely focused on her to be very distracting. Her eyes drifted to his lips and she had to wrench her attention back to his eyes. She couldn’t quite believe he was here, and her body had definitely not recovered from the long draught of human contact. She itched to reach out and touch him, and since her other option was more frustration with failed meditations, she gave into that urge. 

She touched his face, letting her fingers trace the shape of his scars and memorize the feel of his skin. He leaned into her hand and Hermione took advantage of the moment when his eyes drifted closed to kiss him again. He matched her, his lips soft and gentle against her own as he moved forward, forcing her down so that Hermione had to lay back in the bed. He lay next to her, his hand splayed on her stomach, chastely still over her shirt, his thumb tracing slow, maddening circles around her belly button until Hermione thought she would go mad. 

Frustrated, Hermione sat up just enough to pull off her shirt and fling it on the floor. Remus let out a slow, sensuous chuckle as her bra followed the shirt’s trajectory. “Impatient,” Remus commented mildly, his hand resuming its place on her now exposed stomach. 

“Frequently!” Hermione responded, moving his hand up to cup her left breast. 

“Your breasts are magnificent. I might build an altar to their perfection,” Remus said, gently cupping and squeezing the part in question. “But that wouldn’t adequately represent the many perfections of Hermione Granger.” He took her nipple in his mouth and laved at the sensitive peak as Hermione arched against him. 

His mouth moved across to her other breast, and then trailed down, his mouth and tongue leaving a trail of hot, over-sensitized flesh in their wake. 

He moved agonizingly slowly, giving due attention to each inch of skin between her breasts and her core. He tickled, sucked, and laved until Hermione could think of nothing but Remus and what he was doing with his mouth. She wasn’t quite sure when he removed her trousers and underwear, but they were no impediment when his lips found her mons. He spread her open and sucked gently on her clit. She cried out at the sensation and her world narrowed even further. He slid one finger inside her and she felt like her body was exploding with sensations. 

He eased her down from her orgasm, keeping his finger inside her, gently sliding it in and out as her muscles fluttered around him. When the last flutters stopped, he slid back up her body. Another wordless spell, and his shirt was unbuttoned. He removed his shirt and trousers, folding them nearly over a chair as Hermione watched through slitted eyes. Her body felt heavy and satisfied, but it was clear from the sight of his glorious erection that Remus was not done with her yet. 

He came back to the bed, and Hermione watched him climb up her body. He rested, his cock nestled between her legs, his arms on either side of her head. Remus looked down at her, and Hermione met his gaze. She saw humor in his eyes, warmth, affection, and an intensity that she didn’t have a word for. She wondered what he saw when he looked in her eyes for only a second before Remus rotated his his, pushing into her entrance and she couldn’t think at all. 

His pace was slow, so that she felt every inch of him. It was too much, he was too much, and yet she was sure that if he stopped she would die. Her hips rose to meet every thrust, and her eyes fluttered closed as the sensations overpowered her. 

“Open your eyes. Look at me.”

His eyes were dark blue, almost grey and the intensity of his gaze, the feel of his cock moving in, out, in, out, was hypnotic. He maintained the pace, and Hermione felt like she was floating in sensations until time lost meaning and all she could see, all she could feel was Remus. 

“Come for me,” he commanded at last, and her body obeyed, spasming around Remus in an orgasm unlike anything she’d felt before. 

“Was that what you meant by a trance?” Hermione asked a few moments later, once she’d had a chance to pull her brain back together. She pulled on her underwear and located her t-shirt, which had somehow ended up under the bed. “Because if so, I am happy to turn my time and attention to that particular endeavor.”

Remus laughed and rubbed a hand self-consciously through his hair. “It wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I walked into the room, but ultimately, we want you to be able to access that level of focus. There are less carnal ways to achieve it, though.”

Hermione flashed Remus a wicked smile and said, “I liked the carnal method.”

Remus felt his heart rate speed up as his whole body reacted to that smile, and he seriously considered how quickly he might be ready for another round. Then he sighed and stepped back from the sexual precipice. “Be that as it may, you need to be able to achieve that without any exterior aids if you want to be able to access and understand your magical core, and only once you can do that will you be able to brew more effectively and use wandless magic.”

To her credit, Hermione didn’t pout. “Alright. Teach me.”

~*~

“Listen to my voice,” Remus said, his tone low. “Gaze at the flame. Consider the flame. It is red, orange, white at its core. It is hot. What is heat? It burns, but when cold, that little flame gives needed warmth. In the darkness, it is light…”

His voice was low and rhythmic and Hermione allowed it to wash over and through her as she stared at the flame. They spent nearly two hours that night, long past when the midnight bell had rung, working on meditation. Hermione was a brilliant witch, and when confronting external stimuli, she was capable of hyper focus. The challenge was turning that gaze inward without allowing her mind to race. 

They worked each night, first with Remus guiding Hermione in a meditation, and then Hermione putting herself into that state. On the third night, Hermione managed to meditate for a full half-hour without Remus’ help. Two nights later, she finally managed to light a candle without her wand. 

~*~

“I honestly thought she might kill me,” Severus said. He and Remus sat in Remus’ rooms, in their arm chairs by the fire. It was late, past the students’ curfew, and Hermione was making rounds. 

“I suspect she wanted to,” Remus acknowledged mildly. “You might have offered to help her rather than send her away to figure it out.”

“Why? You were there. Someone needed to babysit the potion.”

“I suppose that’s what you told yourself.”

Severus glared at him for a long moment. “I never asked for an apprentice. She’s not even properly an apprentice! Just a thoroughly undeveloped Master who doesn’t yet deserve that title.”

“In Potions. She’s otherwise earned that title twice over.”

Severus nodded, acknowledging the point. He sighed. “And someday, if she can figure out how to actually listen to her magic, she might even be an exceptional Potions Mistress. How she manages Arithmancy and Runes without feeling her magic is a mystery.”

“How is she progressing?” 

Severus looked into the fire for a long moment before standing and going to the sideboard. He poured a measure of Scotch for himself and Remus. When he returned to his chair, he said, “Slowly. More slowly than I’d like. She’s resisting her magic, as though she doesn’t quite trust what it’s trying to tell her, particularly when it deviates at all from her notes or calculations.”

“She has trouble with the intangible.”

“She’s overly prescriptive and stubborn as a mule.”

Remus laughed. “You’re not wrong." 

Severus sighed and banged his head against the back of his chair. “She’s stunning.”

Remus took a deep sip of his Scotch. “Yes, she is.”

The dark haired man peered at his longtime lover, and asked, “Are we…?” He gestured between the two of them, unsure how to finish the question, and terrified of the answer. 

Thank Merlin, Remus knew him so well. “She knows I’m here. She doesn’t expect to see me tonight.” He chuffed a laugh. “She said, ‘Severus is frustrated with me. Make him feel better so that the castle doesn’t try to rearrange our lab.’ I’m not entirely sure what she meant about the castle, but I do believe I could think of a couple ways to make you feel better.”  
Severus closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath and then released it. Stunning indeed.


	8. Testing the potion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, Severus, and Remus test the new Wolfsbane potion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little darker. I promise the next chapter will be better!

Chapter 8

Hermione huffed out a frustrated breath. The potion was finished, but it wasn’t the right color, or at least it wasn’t the color she’d determined it ought to be with her runes. She and Severus had taken meticulous notes, and had only deviated from her calculations in the areas where her calculations were imprecise, and it just wasn’t right. 

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason she was frustrated. Severus was driving her up a wall. She and Remus made it a point to spend at least two nights a week with the other wizard, and on those nights, with Remus present, he was full of hot glances and lingering gazes. During the day when they were alone in the lab, he may as well have been an automaton for all the interest he showed. She had no idea what to make of it. 

She would have thought that, were he interested, he’d show some of that passion when they were alone together, but there was nothing. No not-quite-casual touches, no fingers touching when handing off the stirring rod, nor gentle brush-by as they shared to tight workspace. He was a consummate professional. 

Worse yet, Hermione wasn’t entirely sure she wanted him to be anything else. She still hadn’t figured out if she could navigate a second partner. The last two weeks she had made sure Remus spent at least one night with Severus, and tried to make it abundantly clear that she had no problems with the relationship continuing. The men needed each other, and Hermione didn’t want to get between them. She was surprised that she didn’t mind and wasn’t jealous of the wizard who commanded no small part of Remus’ heart. She was more surprised at her body’s reaction to the idea of them together. 

The nights she was alone, her mind conjured scenes of the two wizards exploring each others’ bodies and giving each other pleasure, and inevitably it fueled her own fantasies. She felt a little weird pleasuring herself to thoughts of her lover with another person, yet, the idea of Remus and Severus… it was delicious, and she found she could easily picture being held between those brilliant men. 

Hermione closed her eyes, pressing her palms into her eyelids. She had given in to the demands of her body and taken an early bath in her clawfoot tub, but now she needed to work. She had papers to grade, a large stack of them that sat on her desk reproachfully. Work. She had to work. 

Hermione made it through the fourth year essays before she finally gave in and sent an owl Harry. She had no idea what to do about the men in her life, and she needed a second opinion that didn’t belong to a certain Head Mistress. 

She didn’t really expect a fast response. The flight would take time, and the owl would need to wait for Harry to respond, before flying back. She had just settled in with a glass of wine and another stack of essays, promising herself she only had to focus until the owl returned, when the sound of the owl knocking on her window made her start and nearly spill her drink. 

She opened the window, letting in a gust of cool late autumn air. She shivered as she gave the owl a treat and extracted Harry’s response from her claws.   
I can’t meet tomorrow. Meet me tonight at the Hogs Head at 8. 

Hermione glanced at her clock. She had half an hour. More than enough time to bundle up and walk to Hogsmeade.

~*~

The old pub was paneled in wood that was dark with age but gleamed thanks to regular magical cleaning and polish. Portraits of famous wizards that had passed through their doors hung on the walls, and the bar itself shone with care. The air in the pub was warm with glow of a fire in the hearth and smelled of hops and fried food. Hermione and Harry were two of fewer than a dozen customers. They sat together in a booth far from the door. 

“How are you?” Harry asked. His cheeks were still flushed from the cold air on his flight over. 

“Good. Confused. Let me buy the first round. I need relationship advice and would like a couple drinks in me before we dive in. Tell me about Ginny and the boys.”

Harry laughed and let Hermione get their drinks. When she returned to the table, he regaled her with stories of James and Albus. “We found the cat trapped in attic a day later. He’s a little hellion!” Harry declared, wiping his eyes from the tears of laughter. “I probably should have thought twice about naming him after my father, given all the trouble we knew he got into.”

It took Hermione a long moment to stop laughing. “It’s a good thing it was just the cat and not Albus.”

“Trust me, that thought had occurred to us.” Harry’s voice turned serious. “Now, enough about my boys. Tell me about this relationship issue, because you haven’t mentioned a relationship, let alone a relationship problem in our calls.”

Hermione blushed and suddenly wished she’d just called Harry on the floo like usual. Then she wouldn’t have to face him while she made her confession. Still, she was a Gryffindor and Harry was Harry. He’d loved her through six years of Hogwarts. He’d loved her when she was wearing that blasted locket around her neck that brought out all the worst aspects of her personality. He would love her even still. 

“I do have a relationship,” Hermione confessed. “I’m seeing Remus.” 

Hermione looked around and cast a quick Muffliato before telling Harry everything. Well, almost everything. She omitted any mention of a relationship between the two men, respecting their privacy. If Remus hadn’t told Harry, it certainly wasn’t her place to do so. 

Harry took a deep sip of his drink, and Hermione saw that his face had gone pale and stony. 

“Harry?” Hermione asked. 

“Just… give me a moment.”

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, reaching out to touch his hand. 

Harry jerked his hand away, and Hermione suddenly realized that perhaps she’d misjudged Harry’s ability to deal with her needs. 

Harry took a deliberate breath, then another, and he pushed his drink aside. When he spoke at last, his voice was calm, but Hermione could see that his seeming calm came from the force of a well-trained iron will rather than actual equanimity. “You just told me that you’re in an intimate relationship with the nearest living person I have to family, present company excluded. Not only that, but he is encouraging you to simultaneously pursue a relationship with his best friend, a man who, next to Tom Riddle, did is absolute level best to make my life a living hell for six years because he was in love with my mum and hated my dad.”

“You almost named Albie after him,” Hermione pointed out. 

“Almost,” Harry snapped.

“You had him cleared of all charges and were his single biggest advocate in the Wizengamut.”

“And so we’re even. He saved my life. I saved his.”

“He’s changed, Harry, since the war. He’s not…he’s not the Snape we knew. I mean, he’s still snarky and over bearing and could do with a better shampoo, but he’s not cruel. Not like he used to be.” She realized she was pleading with her best friend, and wasn’t entirely sure what had come over her. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to date Snape, and here she was begging Harry not to think poorly of him. 

“Hermione, just… give me some time, yeah?” Harry stood up, and walked directly out of the bar. 

Putting her head in her hands, Hermione muttered, “Bugger.”

~*~

It was the night of the full moon, and time at last to test their potion. Remus led the march to the sixth floor just before sunset, his lovers trailing reluctantly behind him. 

“Picture it clearly. We need a room with an iron cage with strong bars and a solid lock. The room needs to be sound proof so that we don’t wake the castle, and we need a panic room in case I get out.” Remus reminded them yet again.”

He was anxious, and Hermione was sensitive enough not to role her eyes where he could see her. Severus caught her eye and smirked. He carried the vial of the potion, and Hermione had her notebook and quills, as well as snacks for her and Severus, who needed to stay up all night and record their findings. 

At last they reached the end of the hall, and walked back and forth, picturing the space they needed. The door appeared, and they walked into a large space. On one side of the room was a large fireplace with a fire crackling merrily and a stack of wood in the corner so they could continue to feed the flame. Across from the fire, was a large, free standing cage with thick iron bars set directly into the floor, stretching up fifteen feet to the ceiling of the room. The bars were no more than three inches apart. The wolf might be able to get an arm between the bars, but no more. Inside the cage was a mat on the floor and a neat stack of blankets and a bowl of water. Remus saw this and snorted. “Moony will destroy all of it,” he commented. 

Off to one side, Hermione saw a table with two chairs, a pile of paper neatly stacked, quills, and ink. Behind the table, was a counter with a coffee maker, and a pile of sandwiches. 

 

Remus looked at Hermione, a smile pulling at his lips when he saw the food. “Which of us skipped dinner tonight?” He asked. 

Hermione winced. “Guilty as charged.”

She also noticed a chest of drawers, and went to peek inside. There were sweats, shirts and trousers, that looked like they’d fit Remus.

“Are we ready?” Severus asked, and Hermione detected a note of tension in his voice. 

Remus stepped in front of the cage, by a door with a prominent lock, in which rested an iron key. Hermione went to him and took his hand. 

“It’s imperfect. We know it’s imperfect. Will you reconsider?” She asked, her hand tightening on his. 

He captured her hand and pulled it to his lips. “No.” Then he leaned forward and kissed her softly. 

She didn’t cry, but only because she promised herself that she wouldn’t. Severus joined them and gave Remus the potion. He drained it in one long sip and grimaced.   
“We’ll work on the flavor,” Hermione promised.

“You’d better,” Remus agreed. He stepped forward to Severus, cupped his cheek, and kissed him gently. 

Severus did not react to the kiss that Hermione could see, save for the slow blink of his eyes. Remus stepped into the cage and locked the door. Severus locked the cage, removed the key, and pulled on the bars to test the lock. It held. 

They didn’t have long to wait, and afterward, Hermione wished desperately she could erase the night from her mind. The potion was indeed imperfect. The transformation was slowed dramatically, and they could hear each slow snap of bone and cartilage pop, and Remus, poor Remus, stayed sentient and in control of his senses for it all. 

He survived, thank Merlin, and Hermione managed to save her sobs for the privacy of her bedroom.


	9. It gets better all the time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post today because the last chapter was such a downer.

Hermione blinked, realizing that she’d been staring into space again, and she grimaced, looking down at the stack of unmarked student essays. More than half were still awaiting her attention, and she really meant to get to them this evening. Normally, she would have been able to grade them in an evening easily, but her attention span had been virtually non-existent in the days since the full moon, since she last saw Remus outside the staid confines of the school meals. He had refused to see her in the days after his change--the nights following their first attempt were both potion free, and he hadn’t come to her in the days since. She spent too much of her time staring longingly at the door and praying he’d stroll in, and feeling desperately guilty for that night. 

It didn’t help either that, in the lead up to the full moon, after her confrontation with Harry, Hermione had finally figured out that she did indeed want them both. She wanted to be a part of the warmth they showed each other, part of the humor and support and ease. She wanted the tension of “will they/won’t they” to end and be replaced by evenings of grading, and conversation, and making love. She wanted Severus’ sharp brilliance, and Remus’ quiet intensity. 

Of course, at this point it didn’t look like she was going to get any of the above. It had been a week since the full moon, and she had seen neither man save for meals and a mandatory staff meeting in the lead up to Halloween. She wondered if both men held her responsible for Remus’ pain, as she did herself. She wondered if they could possibly fix what she had broken. 

She really wished Harry would answer the owl she sent. She desperately needed to talk to someone who wasn’t in the middle of this mess. 

Sighing, she pushed back her chair and moved to stand, thoughts bent on the benefits of a nice cup of tea. 

She didn’t notice the tall, black-clad figure until she bumped into Severus Snape’s chest, and promptly fell back into her chair. She pushed her hair from her face and blinked up at him, hoping the heat she felt in her cheeks at the encounter wasn’t too obvious. 

“Severus?” She asked. 

“Why have you not gone to Remus?” Severus demanded. 

The snark in his tone straightened her spine and the flush of embarrassment quickly changed to indignation. “Because he clearly has no desire to see me. Remus hasn’t acknowledged me at meals. He hasn’t come to my rooms. What am I supposed to do?”

Severus’ voice was soft, his tone icy when he replied, “You could check on him. He was your patient and your test subject, to say nothing of the fact that he was also your lover, and you haven’t been to check on him since your experiment.” His words were clipped, precise, and as cutting as any knife.

‘Your experiment.’ Her’s, not theirs. Hermione cringed. He did blame her.

“Your behavior is, at best, cowardly, and at worst, callous and sloppy.”

Hermione sat, stunned, as Severus turned on his heel. 

Her eyes narrowed. She could understand being blamed for the experiment, but she had tried her best after to make it right! “Stop!” Hermione demanded, and to her surprise Severus paused, though he did not turn to face her. 

Hermione dug her nails into her palm as she spoke to the man’s back, her words low and hoarse with anger. “I get that you’re in love with him. I get that you’re as unhappy as I am with how the experiment turned out, and I don’t fault you for blaming me. Merlin knows I do. But don’t you dare pretend that I did not sit by him all night, that I didn’t try to bring him breakfast the next morning. And the morning after. And the morning after that. He locked me out, Severus. He changed his password, and it is absurd that somehow you think I’m being negligent.”

At those words, Severus turned. 

“I tried, Severus. I warned him it was dangerous, I asked him not to be our test subject. And it was awful. Completely awful. I cannot make him see me if he does not want to do so.”

“He changed his password?”

“Not all of us have a convenient back door,” Hermione said, referring to a secret passage that Severus had put into place between his room and Remus’. 

“Bugger.”

Hermione slumped back into her chair, the fight going out of her body. Suddenly, she felt exhausted. “Language, professor.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why is this complicated?” He crossed to Hermione’s wet bar and poured himself a drink. 

“I told you that I’m not good at relationships. I have no clue. Which is likely why I’m grading papers alone. Or why I was grading papers alone.”

Severus dropped into Hermione’s other arm chair. 

“You haven’t tried to see him since?”

“Nope. The message was pretty clear. The experiment went wrong, I fucked up, and I was dumped by the man I spent far too much of my life pining after.” She glanced at Severus’ glass and considered pouring one for herself, but decided that in the mood she was in, it would just make her maudlin. 

“You are not to blame, Hermione,” Severus’ voice was serious and earnest. “You entered into this research in good faith. You clearly warned Remus of the dangers. Your first fight was because you did not want him to be a test subject. You asked him multiple times to reconsider. If anyone is at fault here, it is Remus for being too hard headed to listen to reason. He is now essentially moping because he didn’t listen.”

“Oh, the love-colored glasses have come off,” Hermione said, trying to lighten the mood. She wasn’t sure she could entirely agree with Severus. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t told Remus about her research to start with. 

Severus gave Hermione a droll look. “I am not blind to the man’s nature, Hermione. He is rash. He’s given to sulking. For all that he talks incessantly about the need for communication, at times he is remarkably bad at the practice thereof.”

Hermione snorted. 

Severus’ lips quirked in a small smile. 

“So what now? Do I let him be? Do I beat down his door? I’ve already had two pints of ice cream and would prefer to avoid a third. Gives me spots.”

“We figure out what went wrong with the potion, and correct our efforts.”

Hermione stood and crossed the room to her desk. She rifled through a couple different piled of papers until she found those she was looking for. She pulled them out and brought them to Severus. 

“I couldn’t sleep… for a couple days. But the sleep deprivation made it easier to… find my magic, feel my magic. I tried to do so while working with the runes and Arithmancy. I think I figured a few pieces out, and I added a pain dampening component, willow bark, to help with the transformation.”

Severus took the papers and began going through her work. It was a slower process than he anticipated. These equations we far more advanced than those he saw in her dissertation, as though she was working on an entirely different field of Arithmancy than he had heretofore seen. It was incredible, a work of mathematic art. At last he came to the refined potion recipe. Despite the work Hermione had put in, the changes to the potion itself was relatively small, tweaks rather than dramatic changes, aside from the addition of the willow. 

He looked up to find Hermione working on a much smaller stack of essays. “We start tomorrow?”

Hermione nodded, and then chewed her lip, a sure sign that she was chewing on a question as well. 

Severus raised an eyebrow, inviting the question.

“In the lab, and even when we’re alone together, you don’t flirt, not like you flirt when we’re in front of Remus. Why?”

Severus opened his mouth and closed it again, taking time to think over his answer. “Tonight, I’m more concerned with Remus than I am interested in getting into your bed. Which is not to say I’m not interested, it just isn’t my first priority. 

“In the lab, I don’t want you to feel as though there is an expectation of a sexual nature in return for your tutelage.” 

The shade of Hermione’s previous Potions Master may as well have been standing in the room between them, so clear were the words that Severus left unsaid. 

Hermione drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her slender arms around them. Severus wondered if she realized how young and vulnerable the position made her look.   
“You are not pretending an interest in me for Remus’ sake so that you can maintain that relationship?” Hermione asked. “Because if you are, there’s no need. I know you love him. I wouldn’t deny either of you your relationship.”

The vulnerability, Severus realized, was without artifice. Hermione genuinely worried that he wasn’t interested, which meant that she must reciprocate his feelings on some level, or she would not care. Severus set aside the papers in his hand and crossed the room. He dropped to his knees, kneeling in front of her chair. 

He reached his hands out slowly, giving her ample time to pull away or stop his movements as he carefully cupped her face. He leaned forward, meeting her eyes and watching as her pupils dilated. Gently his lips found hers and her eyes drifted closed as they kissed. 

The kiss was soft, sweet, a taste that felt eternal and was much too short. Severus pulled away, but Hermione ducked in and stole another kiss. Their lips found each other again and again until both were panting with want. At last, Severus sat back on his heels, letting his hands fall to Hermione’s knees. 

He fought to catch his breath for a moment before he said, “I hope that clears things up for you.”

Hermione licked her lips, and Severus was transfixed by the motion. She nodded. 

“I think I’m going to have to figure out this whole relationship thing.”

“Why bother? Remus and I certainly haven’t.” Severus leaned forward. “I’m going to kiss you again.”

“I’m going to let you.”


	10. Getting together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments. They're by far the most effective way to nudge me to write/post, so please keep them coming.   
> I'm sorry for the long delay between chapters this time. Real life and work life both hit peak crazy at the same time. Hopefully, after next week I'll have more time to write.   
> As usual, my writing does not have a beta reader, so all mistakes are entirely mine.  
> Thank you all for reading!

Chapter 10  
Twenty minutes later, Hermione stood at the the far end of the secret passage between Severus’ room and Remus’. They had both decided that she needed to square things with Remus before they could go any further, so Severus had shown her the way through their lab, and how to access the passage behind one of his bookshelves. She stood on the bottom stair now, trying desperately to find her Gryffindor courage to take the last step. Only the knowledge that Severus stood behind her and would mock her mercilessly if she hesitated much longer gave her the push she needed to move forward. 

Hermione touched the latch, and the door swung open. 

“May I come in?” Hermione asked. 

Remus jerked from his seat in front of his fire, and he stood. Her eyes drank in the man in front of her. His face was haggard, and dark shadows deepened his eyes. He wore a sweater, heavy and careworn with patches that were certainly not for show at his elbows. He wore slacks, so old that the fabric was shiny with wear, and his feet were bare. Clearly he had dressed for comfort, but more, his disinterest in his clothing was certainly something Hermione would have expected from the Remus Lupin who taught at the school in her third year, but not the man she had come to know in recent weeks. All of that was nothing compared to scruffy five o’clock shadow he wore. Remus was usually meticulous about his shaving. 

He swallowed, and Hermione watched his Adams apple bob. 

“You’re already in,” he said. 

“Fair enough.” She stepped forward to let Severus enter. Hermione had expected Remus to scowl at her entrance, but was surprised to see the same extended to Severus. 

“You shouldn’t have brought her here,” Remus said to Severus. He squared his shoulders as though readying for a fight. 

“Forgive me. I grew bored of your sulking,” Severus drawled. 

“I didn’t want you to bring her.”

“And now I’m bored of being discussed as though I’m not in the room,” Hermione interjected, crossing her arms over her chest. “Remus, I know you’re upset with me. I’m not certain why. Since you insisted on being involved in this project over my objections, you could at least do me the courtesy of providing an explanation.”

There was a long pause, and Hermione was grateful when Severus rested a hand on the small of her back in a show of silent support. 

When the silence stretched too long, Hermione added, “We’re all adults. If you’re going to break it off with me, do it properly. Tell me to my face.”

Remus’ face was red and there was a vein bulging in his neck. Hermione was grateful the wolf couldn’t transform without the full moon. 

Hermione exchanged a look with Severus. At his small nod, she crossed the room, skirting around Remus to take one of his chairs by the fire. Severus took the other, leaving Remus with the couch. Remus did not sit. Rather, Hermione was worried he’d explode. 

“You allowed me to be angry with Hermione for not coming to see you,” Severus added. “You failed to mention that she tried, but you had changed your password.”

Remus abruptly sat down. Where a moment ago he had looked combustible, he now looked pale, washed out and defeated, his shoulders slumped, his head in his hards.

Hermione looked at Severus, her concern written clearly on her face. When she opened her mouth to speak, a quick shake of his head cut her off. 

At long last, Remus spoke. “I would very much prefer it if you would both bugger off.”

Severus smirked and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, confused at the expression. 

“So that you can continue to wallow in self-pity and recrimination?” Severus said mildly, “That hardly seems likely to solve our current problems.”

“I am not trying to solve our problems,” Remus said, his voice deadpan.

“Yes, we rather noticed that,” Hermione said. 

Severus added. “Attempting to drink yourself into oblivion is a much more effective solution, I’m sure. Certainly more satisfying than a night of pleasure in Hermione’s delectable hands.”

“Or Severus’ oh so talented fingers,” Hermione added, ogling the digits in question. She met his eyes and read the interest and invitation there, and couldn’t help shifting in her seat. 

“It’s like that, is it?” Remus asked, looking between his two companions. 

“It could be,” Severus said, “If you wanted to stop your self-destructive wallowing.”

Remus ran his hands through his hair, and then the words started spilling out of him as though a dam had broken and he couldn’t control the torrent. “I recognize that this is a hole I dug for myself. I asked for this. Demanded to test the potion. I am living with the results. I am more terrified of transformation than I have ever been. I was fully aware throughout the process. My mind. Do you understand? My mind, my memory, my pain. Every muscle pulling. Every joint dislocating. Every bone snapping. I was fully aware. I prayed to pass out. To die. I wanted it to end. I wasn’t sure I would be sane when it ended. I’m still not sure I am.”

He put his head in his hands, hiding the tears that poured down his cheeks. 

“I’m not angry at Hermione,” he said on a choked breath. “I didn’t want her to see. To know.”

Hermione felt like she’d been punched. She had known. Of course she had known what he suffered. She had been there, keeping vigil all night, cataloguing the damage her potion had done. She had seen his eyes and known their truth. She had made it back to her rooms before vomiting and giving in to the sobs. It stunned her that he’d been trying to protect her from the knowledge, as though hiding the truth from her might spare her some pain.

She spent a few second gaping like a fish while she tried desperately to find a tactful way to say what was racing through her mind. Finally, she gave up. “That’s ridiculous.”

Severus gave her a wry look. 

“Well it is! I’m not a china doll. I’m a scientist! And I was there, cataloguing every scream. Of course I knew what was going on.”

She knew she was supposed to be comforting, giving love and reassurance, but the words kept coming. “You wanted to protect me? So you hid and refused to see me and allowed yourself to wallow and stew as though somehow that would make anything better? Take your head out of you anus, Remus!”

Hermione stood, turned on her heel, and stormed out of Remus’ room. 

 

~*~

 

Hermione’s first class the next day wasn’t until after lunch. She took an early breakfast in her rooms, and headed straight for the lab. The night before, she’d gone out into the woods to harvest ingredients and burn off the anger still simmering in her blood. Trying to protect her from knowledge! Of all the… she took a deep breath and reminded herself that her anger wasn’t going to solve the issue at hand, and it certainly wouldn’t lend itself to the careful and meticulous art of potion making. 

Only slightly to her surprise, Hermione found the lab already occupied. Severus was lining up supplies, and Hermione recognized that he was preparing to start on the new Wolfsbane potion. She joined him, collecting the rest of their needs from the stores in silence. 

She set up the cauldron and started chopping in meditative silence while he pulverized the aconite. They moved well together, Hermione realized, neither getting in the other’s way nor preventing them from pursuing the task at hand. She glanced at his hands then, his long, dextrous fingers, and was glad of her new ability to focus so that she wouldn’t chop her own fingers off.

Once they had the base of the potion ready, it needed to rest for a full day before they could continue with the brewing. Hermione put the rest of their materials in stasis, and turned to look at Severus. 

She rested against the table, crossed her arms and said, “I supposed I might have handled last night better.”

Severus’ lips twitched in what might have been a small smile and he came to stand in front of her. “You handled it beautifully. Occasionally, Remus needs to be yelled at to realize what an idiot he’s being. Such is not my strong suit. I prefer verbal evisceration.”

Hermione winced. “I’m well aware.” She had been on the receiving end of enough in her school days. She ran her tongue over her front teeth, remembering a particularly painful incident. 

Severus reached out as though he would touch her, and then pulled back. “I was neither a kind nor happy man.”

“I know.”

It was neither an apology nor forgiveness, but it was enough. 

Severus stepped forward and captured Hermione’s mouth with his own. His arms wrapped around her as he pressed her back into the table, his hips grinding against her own. It felt like claiming and defiance, a reminder to them both that that was then, and this is now.

At last he stepped back just far enough that his hands rested on her hips. She rested her forehead against his chest. 

“We can’t have sex now,” Hermione said into Severus’ chest. “We have to go to lunch, and I teach in an hour.”

“And we agreed not to until thing are settled with Remus,” Severus added. 

Hermione groaned. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It doesn’t stop me from wanting you to bend me over this table.”

Severus went hard—harder— at the mental image. “It would contaminate the surface,” he choked out.

“We could sanitize it afterward. I cannot tell you how many school girl fantasies I had about you bending me over my workstation.”

It was Severus’ turn to groan. “You’re trying to kill me. I have to teach this afternoon.”

“Me too.” Hermione pivoted so that Snape was resting against the table as she dropped to her knees. She ran her wand down the lower half of his frock coat, undoing the buttons. 

“What are you doing?” Severus ground out. 

“Sucking you’re cock,” Hermione responded, undoing his trousers. “And since we both have class in an hour, I’d better be quick.”

Severus grabbed Hermione by her elbows and lifted her up. “No,” he said, his voice firm. Hermione tried to twist out of his tight grip, but Severus held her firm. “No,” he repeated, his voice lower, almost soothing. “As much as I would like to, and I would, we are not engaging in any sexual act until we settle things with Remus, one way or another.”  
Hermione growled her frustration. 

“Go take a bath,” Severus said, his voice cool if unconvincing, and he fled the room. 

 

~*~ 

 

Hermione did take a bath. She missed lunch, but deemed it worth it to make it through her afternoon class without ripping the head off an unwitting Gryffindors. She silently thanked Merlin that working in an advanced subject meant that she didn’t have to suffer first years and only taught students who wanted to learn, at least in theory. 

She fled back to her room after her classes. She had no interest in making an appearance in the Great Hall for supper, but since she hadn’t appeared for breakfast or lunch, Minerva would have a few choice words for her if she missed supper as well. After a couple hours of concerted grading, she went to the Great Hall. Remus was already there, seated next to Severus. He had shaved, Hermione was glad to see. He looked up when Hermione walked over to claim the empty seat on his far side and blushed before looking back down at his plate. 

“I owe you an apology,” Remus said quietly, leaning in close to Hermione she had taken her seat. 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, “but let’s not do this here. How were your classes?”

Remus sat up straight and readjusted his poster into a more casual pose. “You’ll come by tonight?” 

“Of course,” Hermione agreed. 

 

~*~

 

Hermione took her time after dinner. She showered, more for the comfort of the hot water pelting her skin than any need to wash again. She dressed carefully, not wanting to look like she anticipated any physical romance, but also so that she wasn’t caught off guard if that was where the evening led. She settled matching bra and underwear, both black, and her usual, leggings with a sweater that would keep her warm in the cool air of the castle in late November, as there were not nearly enough fire places to create true warmth. 

She was surprised to feel butterflies in her stomach when she stood in front of Remus’ door. She knew it was silly—of course he would answer this time, but still the nerves remained. She also realized he hadn’t given her the new password so she could just walk in. She had to wait while the portrait went to see if Remus had any desire to see her. 

Thank Merlin, the portrait swung open only a few seconds later, and there stood Remus. He wore close cut trousers and a warm jumper with a small v-neck that revealed a tiny patch of chest hair. 

“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” Remus said, stepping back to allow her entrance.

“I had a couple things to take care of after dinner,” Hermione lied. It sounded better than saying that her nerves caused her to procrastinate for more than an hour.   
She ignored Severus’ raised eyebrow as he looked at her over Remus’ shoulder from his usual chair. 

Remus closed the door and silently crossed to his wet bar while Hermione walked over to the couch and curled up under the blanket Remus had taken to leaving there for her.   
She accepted the Manhattan, neat, light vermouth, with a nod of thanks. Remus sat in his chair and turned to face her. 

“I owe you an apology,” Remus said, repeating his words from dinner. “You were right, of course. I had forgotten or blocked that you were there and would have witnessed everything. It was stupid of me, and self-centered. I was… wallowing, and I knew that seeing you would pull me out of it, so I created an excuse not to see you.”

Hermione sighed. She had a lot of things she could say, but few of them were nice or would solve their current issue. He knew he was being self-indulgent, and knew it had been wrong. Hermione also realized that for all Remus sang the praises of verbal communication, he thrived on touch. He needed it, craved it, and had been denied it for far too long. 

Rather than answer verbally and risk releasing the sharper edge of her tongue, Hermione stood and walked over to Remus, settling down in his lap. She was small and easily curled into his body, allowing his heat to replace the warmth of the blanket. His arms curled tight around her, and she nuzzled his neck. She felt him shudder and sigh as his whole body seemed to relax. She rested her head on his shoulder and allowed him to simply hold her. 

He pressed a kiss into her hair. 

After several long minutes, Severus spoke,“Well,” he said quietly, “I think I’m going to retire for the night.”

“Wait!” Hermione said, stirring herself. She looked at Remus and then back at Severus. “We, the three of us, we’re ok? We’re on?” Remus’ arms tightened, but Hermione continued. “Not tonight—I guess Remus and I have a few things to sort out, but in general?”

Severus did that thing with his eyebrow that alternately drove Hermione wild and/or made her want to strangle him. “So far as I’m concerned, we’re… how did you put it? ‘On’?”

If there had been a pillow handy, Hermione would have thrown it at him. 

“Remus?” Severus asked. They all knew the question was more than rhetorical. 

Hermione was deeply relieved when Remus nodded. “Not tonight.”

Severus nodded, spun, and retreated down the stairs to his rooms. 

Without any further delay, Remus stood, Hermione wrapped in his arms, and he carried her into his bedroom. Where Hermione’s rooms were nearly spartan, Remus’ radiated warmth. His bed spread was a soft gold, and a red carped stretched across his floor, stopping a few feet from a roaring fireplace. His walls were decorated with framed photos, most of the Marauders, one of the Order from the 70s, and another of the second generation. Hermione was amused to see her own young face smiling and waving. There were photos from a few of the awful Victory Balls, most of Remus and Hermione unsuccessfully trying to dodge the camera. 

“I’m so glad you have bed curtains. I know they’re not portraits to react, but still, it’s hard to maintain the mood with fifteen year old me cheering me on. Although, given the crush I had on you, she would absolutely have been cheering.”

Remus chuckled and laid Hermione on his bed. He followed behind her and closed the bed curtains with a waive of his hand. “Just you and me tonight.”

She had expected his kiss to be desperate, hot, and rushed given everything that had happened, but Remus set a slower pace. His lips were soft when they met hers, tender and sweet. She let him set the pace, and she took the time to run her hands all over his body, slowly removing clothes and carefully touching and tasting each new inch of exposed skin. She had no sense of time. They might have taken an hour or ten hours in their gentle explorations.

He tasted her center, and even that was slow, languorous. The build to her orgasm took an eternity, so much that it was almost shocking when he slid into her, achingly pulled back out almost entirely, and then back in and she split apart, breaking into pieces in the waves of her orgasm as tears of release fell down her cheeks and Remus kissed them away. He followed her seconds later, yelling and cradling her, and they slid together into sleep.


	11. Taking a risk on us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. Our triad finally comes together! (Pun intended?)
> 
> As usual, I don't have a beta so all errors are my own. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!

Hermione slid out of bed in the morning before the sun had risen. She gave Remus a soft kiss, said she had to see to a potion. 

In truth, she had almost an hour before the potion needed her attention— she cast a tempus charm to check her time. Still, she wanted a chance to shower, change, and perhaps have a bite of breakfast before starting her work for the day. 

She was surprised to find Severus in the lab when she arrived. He was facing her, and she could see that he was concentrating deeply on the task before him, either counting seconds or strokes with his stirring rod, so Hermione chose not to interrupt. She checked on the cauldron where the Wolfsbane was bubbling away, and checked her time again. Fourteen minutes. Plenty of time to prepare her ingredients for the day, as all she needed to do was add the crushed willow bark. She grabbed the bark and her mortar and pestle. 

When her charm chimed, she added the bark and stirred for 54 strokes with her silver stirring rod, and then set it aside. She had 48 minutes until she needed to strain any large chunks of bark from the potion.

Severus was still working steadily, so Hermione checked the list he kept posted by the door to his room of potions required for the infirmary or otherwise on order. Severus had crossed out the Pepper Up potion, which Hermione presumed he was brewing at present, given the smell of pepper in the room and the steam rising from his cauldron. She collected the ingredients for the headache potion and started to get to work. 

Hermione counted her strokes, and listened when her magic urged her to an extra quarter stir. Carefully cleaning and setting her stirring rod aside, she made note of the change in her notebook, a muggle tool she’d imported because a spiral notebook was considerably less expensive than hand made parchment. 

“When you said you had a potion to see to, I thought you were being euphemistic,” came Remus’s voice from Severus’ doorway, making her jump. 

“Remus? I- when did you get here?” Hermione glanced at Severus, who revealed no surprise at all at the presence of their visitor. 

“About ten minutes ago, but I’ve learned not to interrupt when a brewer has that look on their face.”

At Hermione’s confused expression, Remus added, “Deep concentration, and just a little far away.”

Hermione shrugged. “Euphemistic?”

Remus smiled, and it was pure sex. Hermione felt that smile burning a little hole in her core, and she desperately wished she could see Severus’ face to see if he was similarly affected. 

“You said you had a potion to see to. I thought you meant a certain Potion Master.”

Hermione felt her cheeks burn red as blood rushed to her head. 

“I had hoped to join in the fun.”

Severus turned his head so she could see his face, and particularly his smirk, in profile. 

She looked down at the cauldron. Headache potions were forgiving. There would be no ill effects if she put it in stasis. “Fun.” Given how much blood was in her face, she really wished some might complete the journey to her brain. “I like fun. I need to strain bark. But then… fun.”

~*~

To Hermione’s surprise, they went to Severus’ room. It wasn’t surprise because the room was closest, but because of their three rooms, they spent most of their time together in Remus’ and Hermione has simply expected that to be the case again. 

Severus’ rooms were not as stark as Hermione expected them to be. Indeed, they had considerably more warmth than her own whitewashed walls. A soft, plush cream-colored rug covered much of the floor of his living space. The chairs in front of his fire were a deep forest green, and the coffee table and bookshelves (of which there were many) were a walnut so dark it was almost black. Rather than portraits on his walls, there were finely detailed land and sea scapes, alike only in their universal lack of human subject.

Remus pulled Hermione through Severus’ sitting room and into his bedroom. Like her room, this room was dominated by a large bed, larger than her own or even Remus’. 

“It’s good the be the unofficial Head Master,” Severus commented, seeing Hermione gape. 

Hermione simply nodded, unsure how else to react to the massive bed with sheets that shone like silk where they peeked above a dark emerald duvet. Her mouth felt dry, and she wasn’t quite sure how to move forward or who was supposed to make the next move. 

Severus solved her problem. He had followed Remus and Hermione into his bedroom. He wrapped his arms around Hermione, lifting her from behind, and deposited her on the bed without ceremony. 

“I haven’t taken my shoes off!” She squeaked. 

“Then rectify the situation,” Severus suggested. He kicked off his own boots and climbed into his bed, his movements as graceful as a prowling panther. 

Hermione kicked off her shoes and turned to find herself deliciously surrounded by two large men. She looked up at them, and asked the question that was running a marathon through her head. “What now?”

It surprised her that Severus answered. “Now, we’re going to have sex.”

Hermione did not stick her tongue out at him, but it was a very near thing. 

“Yes, but how does this work?”

She missed the eye contact the men made over her head. 

“I’m going to lick you until you scream,” Severus said, his voice dropping half an octave into a seductive drawl. 

“While he does that,” Remus added, “I’ll find a way to keep your hands and mouth well occupied. 

Hermione’s eyes went wide, and Severus watched her pupils dilate with her arousal. 

“Then, I’ll fuck you,” Severus continued. 

Remus added with a smile, “And I’ll probably fuck him, but that really depends on how things proceed.”

“Oh.” Hermione felt as though her brain had completely given up taking any part in this conversation. She was grateful when Remus claimed her mouth and she didn’t have to think anymore. 

Hermione wasn’t entirely sure when between the heady kisses her trousers and underwear were removed, but she became aware of lips kissing their way up her thigh from her knee. Soft kisses were interrupted by little nips and gentle licks. She looked down and saw a dark head between her legs, and she reached down to stroke her fingers through ebon hair. 

Remus had claimed her mouth, and conquered. She vaguely wondered if his tongue had planted his pennant in a back molar to mark his territory. She could scarcely breath, let along think coherently past his ministrations. 

She realized her shirt had also vanished, perhaps by magic, when his deft fingers gently pinched and rolled a nipple between his fingers. She gasped and Remus pulled away enough to give her a wolfish grin. He turned his attention to her breast, sucking, laving, kissing, and nipping. His actions nearly mirrored those of Severus, who was inching toward her center with maddening slowness. 

At last, Severus honed in on his target, and when his mouth covered her, his tongue deftly flicking her clit, Hermione screamed. Undeterred, Severus continued his glorious torture, inserting one long finger into her and then easing it back out again, making Hermione’s body arch up, trying to recapture that incredible digit. 

Remus made use of Hermione’s empty and grasping hand, wrapping it around his bare cock. He wrapped his own hand around hers, showing her what he liked. In normal circumstances, Hermione would have appreciated the lesson, but as she was being slowly driven mad by Severus’ mouth, she found herself rather distracted. 

Severus inserted a second finger and with what felt like no warning, Hermione’s world exploded. She gasped and cried out her orgasm as Severus relentlessly worked the two fingers inside her. 

After what felt like an age, Hermione finally came down, her body relaxing back into the bed. 

“Oh wow,” She breathed. “Oh Merlin. Wow.”

“We’re not done yet,” Remus said. “Up on all fours. I told you that Severus was going to fuck you.”

Hermione wasn’t actually sure she could move, but for Severus, she’d try. She rolled over, and pushed herself up and almost immediately felt the blunt tip of Severus’ cock at her entrance. 

She expected him to plunge into her quickly, and was surprised instead when an arm wrapped around her middle and pulled her up so that her body rested flush against his. 

“Are you all right?” Severus asked, his voice soft in her ear.

Hermione nodded a little shakily. She felt wrung out, drained. 

“Do you want to continue? You do not have to.” The arm that held her in place was strong, but it rested chastely across her stomach, and Hermione could tell it was there to support rather than trap her. 

Hermione arched her back, rubbing her ass against Severus’ penis and he gasped at the contact. “Yes,” she breathed. “I would very much like to continue.”

Severus released her, easing Hermione back down to the bed. He pushed into her slowly, his pace almost agonizing. There was a long pause, and then Severus grunted. Hermione suspected that Remus had decided to take Severus after all. 

When Severus moved again, his motions were shaky and a little rough. His hand reached around her and deft fingers found her clit. To her surprise, she started to feel another orgasm build between Severus’ thrusts and the dancing of his fingers on his clit. He played her like a Stradivarius and she came, keening her orgasm. Severus thrust two, three, four more times, and then he shouted his release. 

Hermione sunk to the bed and extracted herself, giving Severus room to brace himself against the mattress as Remus rammed into him. Hermione watched the men, mesmerized by the image they made. She knew that future masturbations would be to the image in front of her at that moment. Both men glistened with sweat, and muscles rippled and constricted in Remus’ lean body with every thrust. His eyes were shut as he neared completion. At last, with a roar Remus too found his pleasure.

~*~ 

Hermione woke up some time later to find a pale arm wrapped tightly around her bare middle. She wiggled free and went to relieve the pressure on her bladder, and then slid back into bed, curling back up next to Severus. He opened one dark eye, nodded to her, dragged her back against him, and dropped back into sleep.

When Hermione woke again, it was her stomach making demands, grumbling loudly enough that she heard Remus snort his amusement. 

“Perhaps we should order up lunch,” He said from the far side of Severus’ lean form. Hermione could hear the laughter in his voice. 

“Oh hush. I only managed a piece of toast for breakfast.”

“Then lunch is definitely in order,” Remus said. 

The bed rustled, and then Hermione could see Remus’ bare back and bum, and she thoroughly enjoyed the view as he pulled on his trousers.   
Hermione looked back down to the man facing her, and found that his dark eyes were open and looking at her. 

“Hello,” she whispered. 

He blinked. 

Hermione gave in to impulse and kissed him. He kissed her back, his arms circling around her. Severus’ erection thrust against Hermione’s hip, and she unconsciously spread her legs for him, so that his tip was again against her center. 

Her stomach rumbled again and Hermione scowled down at it.

“I’ll get food. You two finish up here, and I’ll see you in the sitting area when you’re done,” Remus said from the doorway. Hermione hadn’t even realized he was still in the room, and found herself blushing. 

“He- I-“

“Think later,” Severus interrupted. With a forward thrust, he entered her and Hermione gasped her pleasure. Remus was thick, but Severus’ was a little longer, and he felt incredible as he ground against her. 

They moved together slowly, meeting thrust for thrust. He captured her with his eyes, trapping her and keeping her entirely fixated on him. It felt breathtakingly intimate, and she wondered fleetingly if he was looking into her mind, though she didn’t feel anything there. His eyes were softer than Hermione was accustomed to, his gaze warm. She felt like she could stay here forever, feeling only his body against hers, seeing only his eyes so that they blocked out not only her own thoughts, but the entire outside world. 

His movements were smoother and more graceful than last night. It wasn’t long at all before Hermione felt herself on the cusp of orgasm. Severus reached a hand between them, finding her clit and pinching it gently, he made her shatter. Severus followed seconds later.

At last, they cleaned and dressed. Hermione expected to feel awkward around Severus after they first slept together, but he seemed to feel no discomfort at all, and it allowed Hermione the same nonchalance as she located her clothing, somehow folded neatly in a chair, and pulled them on. 

Remus was as good as his word. Lunch, apparently leftovers from the Great Hall, waited for them on Severus’ coffee table. Hermione ate her fill of the cold lunch, having difficultly eating slowly in the face of her ravenous hunger. Satiated at last, she felt her brain finally start to function. She sat back on the sofa, pondering all that had happened. 

“You’re thinking rather loudly,” Remus commented. 

Hermione straightened, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and said, “I have questions.”

This time, she saw the look that Remus and Severus exchanged, and she scowled. “Questions are perfectly reasonable at this juncture. I haven’t done this before. I’d like to know the rules.”

“Rules?” Remus asked, his voice riding a bicycle down the fine line between curious and teasing. 

“A bit pedantic, aren’t we?” Severus snarked. 

“Rules,” Hermione responded. “Is there a rotation for who sleeps with whom and when? Are we allowed to partner off, or only have sex as a group, the last twenty-four hours excepted? Are we allowed to sleep with other people, or is this a closed triad? Who, if anyone, do we tell, or is this a secret? I admit, I don’t like the idea of having a secret relationship, and triads were actually not uncommon before the Goblin Wars. They were a way for families to secure fortunes and build alliances twice as fast—“

“Hermione,” Remus interrupted. “Slow down.”

“Breathing is commonly accepted as necessary for life,” Severus added with a small quirk of his lips that might have been a smile. “Now, I believe you started with a rotation. I don’t think that necessary.”

“Given our patrol schedule and my lycanthropy, there will be some natural rotation built in,” Remus added. 

“A rotation doesn’t allow for solitude or special projects,” Severus added.

Hermione nodded. “So we play it by ear.” Hermione curled her legs under her in her seat and looked between the two men. “What if we spend more time with one partner than the other?” 

Severus opened his mouth, but Remus shot him a look. 

“If it becomes a problem, we’ll talk about it,” Remus soothed. 

“We are allowed to partner off, obviously." Severus drawled. "Our schedules require as much unless you want enforced abstinence whenever one of us is on duty.”

“I’ve had enough years of abstinence,” Hermione declared.

Severus smirked.

“We should be sensitive to whether or not we’re spending dramatically more time with one partner than the other,” Remus added. 

“Closed triad,” Severus stated. His tone brooked no argument. 

Hermione studied Severus’ impassive face, and her eyebrow furrowed in confusion as she realized she was missing something significant. She didn’t understand the tone, nor the severity of his gaze. 

Seeing her look, Severus replied in a low voice and with a distinct edge, “Perhaps you considered this a frivolous idyll?”

“No!” Hermione sat up straight in her panic. “No! I just… my understanding was that you and Remus were together, but only until someone else came along. I wasn’t sure if- if this was that.”

Remus leaned forward and grabbed Hermione’s hand. The small circles he started tracing with his thumb did almost as much to calm her as his words and tone. “I don’t think we’ve managed to convey how things have changed in the last few months. This isn’t… an affair, or a lark. We may have started that way in our thinking, but not anymore.”

Hermione remembered the intensity of Severus’ gaze, and their last interlude started to make more sense. Perhaps… perhaps Severus felt more than she had grasped. 

“Remus and I have… discussed some things,” Severus added. “There are stakes now that neither of us had anticipated.” He looked pained at the admission, or perhaps at so much personal disclosure. Hermione couldn’t decide. 

Hermione looked between the two men and realized that they were looking at each other, not at her. They seemed to be communicating something difficult in their silence. 

Severus continued, “We recognize that if this does not work out as we hope, there is a chance that even our friendship might be collateral damage. We are both fully committed to this relationship and its success.”

Her eyes darted between the two men, and her voice when she spoke was pitched higher in her panic. “I— that’s— I don’t know how to relationship. This is a huge mistake. You can’t risk your friendship on me! I’m me. I’m bossy and demanding, too intense, and I ramble when I’m nervous, and—“

“Hermione,” Remus said, squeezing her hand. “Given what you know of me and Severus, would you describe either of us as particularly risk-adverse?”

Hermione considered the question. Remus had been a Marauder, one of the four most ingenious pranksters Hogwarts had ever seen. Certainly he’d been the most level headed of the lot, but that didn’t mean he sat out on their pranks. Severus had spent more than a decade spying on a psychopath for a man who cared more about winning the game than the wellbeing of his pawns. No, risk-adverse wouldn’t be on her short list of descriptive terms. She shook her head. 

“And besides,” Remus said with a hint of a rakish smile that had Sirius written all over it, “we’re not taking a risk on you. We’re taking a risk on us.”


	12. Science!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Sorry for the long delay. Life took a turn for the complicated and difficult. Thank you for all the comments! While I don't always reply, I do read them all, and they're usually the nudge that reminds me to write/post. This story is not abandoned, just slow blooming.

Chapter 12  
“Done,” Hermione said, looking down at the potion that now shone the clear blue of a sky on a sunny day. Perfect. She set aside the stirring rod and summoned a flask in which to decant the new batch of her improved Wolfsbane. 

“Color is good,” Severus commented blandly. 

“Color is perfect,” Hermione corrected. 

Severus did not respond, and Hermione managed to curtail her impulse to elbow him. 

“Cut it close on the timing,” Severus said. 

Hermione shrugged. Her start had been delayed by Remus’ moping, but the past was the past, and the trio had moved forward in a direction she was particularly happy with. She reflected on that, the idea of a trio. She had been part of a trio since she was eleven years old. Although that initial trio with Ron and Harry was mostly (and certainly should have stayed entirely) platonic, she was not surprised to find that as an adult she was most comfortable in the company of two men. 

“Is Remus ready?” Hermione asked.

“He’s already in the Room of Requirement.”

Hermione looked up at a clock and gasped. “I’d forgotten how early night comes here in the winter.” She frowned and added, “I missed lunch.”

Severus moved one eloquent shoulder in shrug that clearly communicated that he could not be held accountable for her inattention. 

“Well, I hope the Room of Requirement has sandwiches,” Hermione said. 

“Indeed.”

~*~

After a brief stop in the kitchens to arrange lunch and supper, Hermione and Severus arrived in the Room of Requirement and found Remus pacing. Given the already darkening sky despite the early hour, Hermione couldn’t blame him. 

A large cage with silver lined steel bars that dominated the center of the room. There was a bed inside the cage, which Hermione hoped signaled that Remus had some faith in their brewing ability, despite their mutual trepidation. She took that as a good sign. Outside the cage, there were two more beds, presumably one for Severus and one for Hermione. 

Hermione wondered at the separate beds, but given Remus’ increased moodiness and possessiveness around the full moon, she could only presume that Moony didn’t like the idea of his lovers sharing a bed. 

There was also a small kitchenette and a table with three chairs, set for a meal. Apparently Hermione wasn’t the only one who was hungry. 

She watched Remus pacing, his shoulders hunched and face pinched, and exchanged a look with Severus. In the lead up to this full moon, Remus had been far more agitated than she’d seen him previously. He had barely been able to sit still for the last three days, and his sleep had suffered— to say nothing of his temper. He had dark circles under his eyes and his usually lean face was edging toward gaunt. 

“It’s ready?” Remus growled. 

Hermione nodded, holding up the sky blue vial. 

Remus grabbed the vial and drank the contents in a long pull. “That’s… not as vile as usual,” he commented. 

Hermione smiled, the gesture small and tentative. “Different recipe. More fruit.” 

“Huh. Not sure I like it, but I don’t want to take steel wool to my tongue, so I consider that a win.”

At that moment, food appeared on a large counter. Hermione’s stomach grumbled at the smell of steaks and Yorkshire pudding. Remus’ head whipped around toward the food, and he practically pounced on the platter of meat. Hermione briefly worried that Remus would simply dig his face in, niceties be damned. To her relief, he carried the platter to the table and put three of the steaks on his plate. Hermione was grateful the house elves had sent up plenty of food. 

Lunch was a hasty and quiet affair. Hermione was famished, but her appetite was nothing compared to Remus’, who took more than triple what Hermione’s plate held. Compared to his companions, Severus was the pinnacle of decorum. 

“We only have a few moments before the moon rises,” Severus said, looking out the window. It was nearly full dark. 

Remus stood from the table and walked over to the cage. He stopped at the door and grabbed Severus who had followed him. He pulled the man into savage kiss that left them both breathless. When they pulled apart, Remus rested his forehead against Severus’ for a few long seconds and squeezed the other man’s hand in his own. He turned next to Hermione and pulled her into his arms. 

Hermione had expected a harsh kiss, a match to the one that Severus had received. She was surprised when Remus’ lips pressed gently against her own in a loving caress. For some reason, it made a lump form in her throat and tears threaten her eyes. 

He pulled away and stepped back into the silver cage. 

Hermione wanted to stand and watch, but duty called her away from the cage to where her notebook and pen waited for her notes. She took up her position at a desk that faced Remus in the center of the room. Closing her eyes, Hermione searched for composure like Severus’. He never revealed a facial expression that he didn’t want to be seen, a skill that had allowed him to survive for years as a spy for the Order. He sat at a desk now too, Hermione saw, though she didn’t remember there being a second desk present earlier. His face was impassive, of course, although his gaze was focused entirely on Remus. 

They didn’t have long to wait. 

The moonlight pooled through he window and Remus went stiff. Hermione was not a fan of horror movies. She didn’t like gore. Her life had been terrifying enough for much of her school days that she had no desire to subject herself to that sort of thing for recreation. Watching Remus’ spine elongate, listening to the cacophony of his bones snapping and reforming, watching his face change from one that was familiar and dear into something briefly grotesque before becoming animalistic was almost too much for her. She could only thank Merlin that the whole process this time was so much faster, over in minutes rather than hours. 

When all was said and done, the werewolf, a creature who could easily look her squarely in the eyes while on all fours and whose weight more than doubled her own, stood looking at her. He didn’t growl or howl, he simply looked at her with a calm intelligence in his eyes. 

“Remus?” Hermione asked. 

The werewolf barked and jerked his head up and down. 

“We need additional proof,” Severus said. “Tap out your birthday.”

The wolf tapped ten times, paused, three times, paused, and then six times and drew a line with his paw after. Hermione looked up at Severus for confirmation.   
“Remus’ birthday is 10 March 1960, as he said.”

Hermione broke into a wide smile. Severus didn’t match her expression, naturally, but his eyes shown with triumph. 

~*~

While they discussed letting Remus out of the cage, they ultimately decided that it would be best to wait until morning to ensure that the potion worked through the night. Hermione read to Remus from the novel he’d been reading in his spare time, and they all went to sleep relatively early in their separate beds. 

When Hermione woke, she glanced out the window to see that while it certainly wasn’t light yet, the sky was beginning to lighten in preparation for dawn. She guessed it was somewhere around 8:15 and she briefly contemplated getting dressed and hurrying to the Great Hall for breakfast. There was no chance she’d be able to go back to sleep now that her eyes were open, and she badly wanted a cup of coffee. Perhaps the Room of Requirement would have a percolator. Or at least a tea pot? She vaguely remembered seeing something of the sort last night. 

Hermione rolled out of her bed and shivered in the cool air. She’d packed warm pajamas, well aware that it would take more than one winter for her to readjust to the lack of central heating. She cast a quick warming charm on herself, and finally steeled herself to look over at the silver cage. 

The werewolf was still there, curled up on the bed in a tight ball. It would be a few more minutes, Hermione reasoned, before he changed back. And then, he would be tired, and very very hungry. 

Hermione was gratified to find the kitchenette well stocked with eggs and sausages, a kettle, a few sachets of what smelled like strong black tea, and two hot plates on which to prepare the food. The elves must have come in this morning already, and for that, Hermione was deeply grateful. Glancing again at the cage, she started cooking breakfast. 

~*~

Remus ate nearly a dozen eggs and half a dozen sausages before stumbling back to his room and falling asleep. He slept for the remainder of the day and through the next night.   
Hermione and Severus had taken turns staying with Remus and Hermione was surprised to see both at breakfast the following morning. Usually, Remus took at least two full days to recover, and Hermione was glad to see he was looking rather well. They exchanged smiles and pleasantries, their usual masks on in front of the students and other professors, but just as they were both getting up to go teach their classes, Hermione asked, “Are you available later?”

Remus gave Hermione a small smile that set her stomach fluttering, and nodded. 

~*~

“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain during the transformation?” Hermione, Remus, and Severus sat in Remus’ rooms that night in front of a large fire that almost dispelled the winter chill from the air. Hermione was wrapped in a blanket, and honestly could not fathom how she had survived six years in this blasted castle.

“Two. Perhaps three. No, Hermione, don’t make that face,” Remus reached out to touch Hermione’s hand. “Mild to moderate discomfort is worlds better than the excruciating agony of having each of your bones slowly broken and your muscles torn, stretched, and shredded.”

Hermione shrugged, trying to shake off the feelings of disappointment. “We were hoping to alleviate your pain,” she said, looking at Severus for support. Unhelpfully, his face had about as much emotion as a stone wall. 

“And you did!” Remus said, his face animated by the energy of his argument. “I have had stubbed toes more painful than this month’s transformation. I will take ‘almost as painful as a stubbed toe’ over the alternative any day. Look at me. The full moon was two nights ago, and I have energy!”

Hermione did have to smile a little at that. Remus was practically bouncing. In the four full moons she’d experienced this year at Hogwarts, to say nothing of the time she knew him in the Order, this was the fastest recovery she’d witnessed. 

“I could make a suggestion or two for what you might do with that energy,” Severus drawled. 

Hermione glared at the man. “After we’re done! I need to conduct a full examination for the sake of research first.”

“You could do that examination with me nude and in my bed,” Remus suggested, waggling his eyebrows. “We could play doctor.”

Hermione closed her eyes and prayed to Merlin for patience. “You’re both incorrigible!”

“But you love it,” Remus said. 

“Work first,” Hermione said, her voice just at the edge of pleading. “Then play.”

She squeaked when Severus lifted her, hefting her over his shoulder as he carried her into the bedroom. 

“My notebook!” She yelled, beating on his back. 

“I’ve got it!” Remus said helpfully, holding it up so she could see as he followed them into the bedroom.


	13. Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience, comments, and kudos! Please keep them coming! This story will continue to update slowly-- it's definitely not abandoned. I've got the rest plotted out. Thank you for reading!

Dear Harry,  
I know you’re still not talking to me. I respect that. I threw a lot at you last time we were together, and I know there was a lot to digest. I’m afraid there is more to report, and I don’t want to surprise you when we see each other at Christmas next week. I am in a relationship with Remus and Severus. I’m not simply dating both Remus and Severus— we, all three of us, are in a relationship together, with all that entails. 

We have decided not to be public in our affections, but I have spent eight years hiding away and I don’t want to continue hiding any longer. I admit, I would like to sing my happiness from the rooftops, but Severus is deeply private, and Remus is cautious about how the world will view us. As he put it, people won’t like a member of the Golden Trio tied to a werewolf and a Death Eater. He doesn’t believe me when I say that’s a load of bunk. They’re war heroes! They’re two of the bravest men I have ever met, and the Wizarding world now knows what they did to win the war. 

We compromised. We’re going to tell the Order, or at least not hide from the Order members. Severus acknowledged that you all were able to keep identities and tactics secret, so not mentioning who is dating whom should not prove an undue challenge. 

I’m happy, Harry. Even when Severus is a git (and he is on occasion), and even when it’s Remus’ time of the month and he communicates in snarls and eats a half pound of chocolate in one sitting, I’m happy. We’re happy (at least as happy as Severus gets). I hope that someday you’ll be able to be happy for us. 

I recognize that I’m a coward in not writing the letter to Ron myself, but we’ve barely exchanged a letter in eight years, and it feels disingenuous to have our first communication be about how I’m dating someone else. Could you tell him? And, perhaps, warn me when you do so I can prepare for the howler?

Much love,  
Hermione 

~*~

“We have to go. It’s Christmas,” Hermione said. “It’s my first Christmas back in England. We have to go to the Weasley’s party.”

“Who are you trying to convince?” Severus asked. Like Hermione, he wore his winter gear—coat, boots, hat, and scarf. While Hermione wore house colors, Severus had chosen a more sedate slate grey for his accessories. They stood just inside the main doors of the castle. 

Hermione took a deep breath and looked up at Severus. “Myself, mostly,” she admitted. “Entirely, I suppose. I just wish Remus would hurry with the presents so I don’t talk myself out of going. Again.”

Severus turned and cupped Hermione’s face in his gloved hands. With deliberation he leaned down and kissed her softly before straightening. “Do not tell me you’re ashamed,” he warned. 

Her face softened as she smiled up at him. “Never. But I am worried about their reactions. Harry is being a bit of a git about the whole thing, and I worry that people will listen to him.”  
“Too many people listen when Harry Potter speaks without first bothering to think about the words he’s saying.”

Hermione sighed, wishing she could disagree with Severus. She loved Harry, but there was no denying that he led with his emotions rather than rational thought. “Yes, well. We have to go. It’s Christmas.”

Severus smirked. “You don’t need to convince me. I’m long past caring what Potter and the Weasel clan have to say about me.”

“Weasley,” Hermione corrected automatically. 

Severus did not respond.

“Sorry!” Remus said, hurrying down the main stairs. He patted a small bag that Hermione had enchanted. “I have the gifts. Wrapping by hand is considerably harder than I thought. And there are considerably more Weasleys than I remembered. Are we ready?”

Severus responded by turning sharply on his heel and walking toward the gate. 

~*~

They arrived at the Burrow and were greeted at the door by a beautiful red headed child about the age of six that Hermione didn’t recognize. 

Remus clearly did because a smile lit his features. “Dominique! So good to see you!”

The child launched herself into Remus’ arms and started chatting happily in a rapid French that Hermione only half followed about her little brother’s recent mishap with a Yule log.  
“Bill’s,” Severus murmured in Hermione’s ear. 

Hermione quickly realized that Remus was a particular favorite of the Weasley children, as he was completely mobbed within moments of entering the room. Hermione worried for a few seconds until he caught the smile on her lover’s face as he dolled out chocolate that he had clearly stashed in various pockets for this purpose. 

Hermione hung back, watching and waiting. It had been nearly eight years since she’d entered the Burrow. In that time, she had broken things off with Ron and vanished to another continent. She knew she could rely on George for a warm welcome, but beyond that, she really didn’t know how she might be received. 

Severus clearly had a similar reaction, or perhaps he simply persisted in his long established misanthropy, for he stayed by her side, valiantly helping her to prop up a wall. 

“Is that Hermione dear?” Mrs. Weasley called. Hermione looked around. She hadn’t seen the matron of the Weasley clan, but clearly the witch had seen her. Before she knew what hit her, she was blindsided by a tight hug. 

“Oh! I missed you! You’ve stayed away far too long,” Mrs. Weasley said, still hugging Hermione. Hermione surprised herself, hugging the other woman back just as fiercely as tears sprang to her eyes. 

At last, Mrs. Weasley pulled away. She smiled softly, cupping Hermione’s face and wiping the younger woman’s tears with both thumbs. “Don’t stay away so long next time, do you hear? Oh, look at you. You need dinner. Severus, what are you feeding this poor girl at the castle? She’s skin and bones! I expect better of you and Remus. Letting her get lost in her books and research, I’d wager. Men!” The woman huffed and turned, steering Hermione firmly toward the kitchen.

Hermione looked back and her eyes met Severus’. His public mask was firmly in place, but Hermione was certain he could read the surprise and pleasure in the lift of her eyebrows and slight curve of her lips. In naming Remus and Severus and holding them responsible for Hermione’s wellbeing, Molly Weasley had acknowledged that she knew about their relationship and it didn’t bother her one whit. 

She hustled Hermione into the kitchen and immediate started making her a plate from the multitude of laden trays on the sideboard. 

“Now dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, presenting Hermione with a plate, the contents of which could easily feed Hermione for three meals, “I’ve heard Harry’s side, which is passionate rubbish. How did you and the boys come to be?”

Hermione set down her fork. She was sure this was coming, but not sure how to explain in a way that was both honest and didn’t betray any confidences. She thought for a long moment, and Molly gave her the silence. 

“We knew each other from the Order, of course. Remus was the first to greet me, next to Minerva, when I arrived back. He and Severus had become good friends, so we, all three of us, ended up spending a number of nights grading together and spending time together. Severus mentored me on some of the finer points of potion making, as that was my weakest subject at Harvard. Um.”

“And one thing led to another?” Molly suggested. 

“Essentially,” Hermione shrugged. She didn’t like omitting so much, but it was Molly Weasley, not Ginny. She didn’t need the whole X-rated story. 

“Well, Harry has a colorful imagination.”

Hermione wanted to kiss the woman. She hadn’t expected easy acceptance, not from the Weasley matriarch. She was in the process of standing to do so when the door to the kitchen opened and Ron strolled in. 

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed. “I heard you were here!”

He grabbed her in a tight hug and swung her around. 

“Ronald! Put me down!” Hermione demanded when she could speak around her laughter. 

Ron complied, but he kept his hands around her waist. “It’s good to see you!” He declared, an easy grin on his face. Hermione couldn’t help but hug him again. It had been seven years since they spoke, and she had no idea how he would react to her presence. Even more than Molly, Hermione had been worried about Ron’s reaction as her most immediate ex and best friend. Seeing his easy smile, the lack of tension in his shoulders and around his mouth, it was a Christmas gift she hadn’t dared to hope for. 

She pulled him down to the table, making him sit beside her. “Tell me everything!” Hermione demanded. 

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Molly said, excusing herself. 

“Thank you Mrs. Weasley!” Hermione said, “for everything.”

Mrs. Weasley gave Hermione a stern look. “Eat!” She ordered as she bustled out, closing the door behind her. 

“Your mother is still slightly terrifying.”

“Pot. Kettle,” Ron said. “Remember the birds?”

“In my defense, you were a git.”

Ron’s easy grin bloomed across his face. “I missed you.”

Hermione smiled back. Ron had been both one of the biggest pains in her ass for seven years, and one of her most stalwart friends and defenders. They saw eye to one perhaps once in a blue moon, and she still loved him dearly. “Likewise.”

“How are Lavender? The kids?”

Ron’s smile was back and even wider as he told her his miscreants latest misdeeds. From Ron’s stories, Hermione wasn’t sure his pack was dim as George had led her to believe. They certainly seemed to have the Weasley nose for mischief, given Ron’s story about what the kids did to a particularly annoying garden gnome. 

“That poor gnome!” Hermione said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. 

“Can you believe, he was back again the next day?”

“No!”

“And he cursed a blue streak. You wouldn’t believe the words little Indigo came in repeating.”

Ron straightened, and Hermione could already sense the change of topic coming before he opened his mouth. 

“Harry… is being a git,” Ron said simply.

Hermione blinked. That was not what she was expecting. 

“A tremendous git,” Ron continued. “I get that you are dating older men, but Harry’s absurdly hung up on the fact that you’re dating Remus and Severus despite the fact that he’s unhappy about it. As though he should somehow get a say!”

Hermione knew she looked like a fish, her mouth open and gaping. She struggled to close it as Ron continued, “You’re happy. They’re clearly smitten. I mean, Snape! He’s smitten. I didn’t know Snape—“

“Professor Snape.”

“—Professor Snape had feelings. But he does. Clearly. For you. And that’s good. The man has had a rubbish run, and you all deserve some happiness. Harry will pull his head from his bum someday. Gin’s working on him.”

Hermione blinked again and asked, “When did you get so wise?”

“I’ve always been wise. You just haven’t always appreciated that fact.” Ron lifted his chin, but he broke character when a small grin peeled across this face. 

Hermione gave his shoulder a playful nudge. “Sure.”

“Look, Hermione,” Ron said seriously. “Harry has an absurd temper and Merlin knows he’s prone to fixating on things. He’s out there stalking around, muttering, and generally being as ill-tempered as Sn—“ Ron caught Hermione’s look and changed his mind, “as a badger who sat the wrong way on a pinecone. Eventually he’ll come around.”

Hermione took Ron’s hand and squeezed. “Thanks.”

“‘Course. And you know that if either of them hurts you, there will be a queue at least six Weasleys deep to hex their bollocks off. Likely right behind Harry.”

“Yep. I’m sure they’re well aware. Shall we take bets on how many of your siblings have already pulled one or the other aside tonight.”

“All of them? Gin first?”

“She’s certainly the most convincing of the pack.”

“Terrifying.”

Hermione gave an unladylike snort. “She gets it from your mother.”

“Yep.”

~*~

Ron proved to be right. Harry was stalking around the room, pointedly ignoring her in a way that was impossible to ignore. Luckily, Harry appeared to be the only one at the party who was openly opposed to their relationship. The children were impervious to the tension between the adults and spent the night treating Remus as a glorified jungle gym, which he appeared to enjoy tremendously. Hermione couldn’t help but smile to watch him. 

Hermione was fairly certain that if she could just ignore Harry, she’d have a lovely time. Unfortunately, it seemed that wherever she turned, there he was, turning his back to her, diverting a conversation partner, or purposely moving away as she tried to approach. 

After watching Harry divert George from approaching her, again, Hermione gave up. “Severus,” Hermione said, finding her lover in the darkest corner of a surprising well-lit room, “I’m done.”

“It’s barely nine,” Severus said, glancing to a clock on the wall. As protests went it was barely token. 

“Late enough. Can we go home?”

“Get your coat. I’ll let Remus know we’re slipping out.”

~*~

“It’s just frustrating,” Hermione said, pouring herself a drink. “He’s been the most supportive, loving person in my life for a decade. He’s been my touchstone. And now he’s cut me off because I made a choice he didn’t like.”

“Potter isn’t known for being calm, rational, and seeing beyond his own juvenile emotions,” Severus replied. 

“Trust me, I’m well aware. Just… just frustrated. Everyone else was so lovely. It could have been such a wonderful evening if Harry weren’t such a tremendous git.”

“Say that again,” Severus said, his voice lightly tinged with amusement, and there were tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that betrayed his sense of humor. 

“What? Harry is a tremendous git?”

“It’s so nice to hear someone else receive that particular term of endearment.”

Hermione slumped into one of the chairs. “Yes, well, he deserves it.”

“I’m sure.” Severus continued, “If it is any consolation, you are still much beloved of the rest of the Weasleys.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked. 

“Every single one of them needed to ‘have a word with me’ about the proper care and feeding of one Miss Hermione Granger.’”

“I imagine feeding wasn’t a major part of that conversation,” Hermione said with a smirk. 

“On the contrary. Fully half of them accused me of not feeding you enough.”

Hermione took a sip of her drink. “I don’t believe you’ve fed me ever. I’m a grown woman.”

“Who is apparently incapable of ensuring she receive proper sustenance, according to George, Molly, Ginny, and Bill.”

“Bill?” Hermione asked. “His wife is part Veela. She looks like a strong breeze might snap that narrow waist.”

“Bill.”

“Huh. Maybe he’s insecure about his wife’s svelte form.”

Severus raised an eyebrow and Hermione shrugged in response.

“Did Ginny approach you first?” Hermione asked.

“However did you guess?” Severus asked. 

Hermione’s faint smile fell into a frown that wrinkled her brows as she looked into her cup. 

“What?” Severus asked, sensing the change in Hermione’s mood. 

“It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Very astute.”

She set her cup down, using the movement to avoid eye contact. “I think- I think I’m going to go up to bed. Alone.”

She didn’t need to look at Severus to see him stiffen. She sighed, stood, and crossed the room, bending down as she passed Severus to give him a kiss on the cheek. He did not respond. 

As Hermione walked the halls, taking the long way back to her quarters, she felt her temper start to simmer. Harry had been a true to life git, and now Severus was in a snit with her for asking for space when she needed it. And that was after learning that all the bloody Weasleys felt the need to act the part of protective guardian, when she was more than capable of taking care of herself. The simmer became a boil as she slammed into her room. She had simply acted on her desires and articulated her needs in a way that harmed no one! Why was the male ego so bloody fragile? Why was everyone in a snit?!

Hermione wanted to punch something and cry. She hated Christmas. 

~*~

Hermione was still in bed when she felt her wards ripple as someone entered her room. If they made it through her wards with nary a blip, it had to be Harry, Severus, or Remus. She pressed her eyes closed and pretended to be asleep, hoping that whomever it was would just go away. 

Instead, she felt her mattress dip as somebody sat down next to her. 

“You’re awake,” Remus said. 

Hermione didn’t respond.

“I know the difference between your breath when you’re asleep, and your breath when you’re awake. You are definitely awake. I will sit here until you have to use the restroom so badly that you won’t be able to pretend anymore.”

Hermione groaned. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Fair.”

“Is Severus still grumpy with me?”

“Grumpy is such a strong word.”

“Moderately annoyed?”

“At this point he’s calmed down to ‘mildly annoyed.’”

“How can you tell the difference?” Hermione asked, sitting up slightly.

“The depth of the groves on either side of his mouth. The more he tightens his lips, the more annoyed he is.”

“Huh.”

“I asked to be alone, and he got all Snape on me. Why is he so…brittle? He demands solitude whenever he wants, but when I ask for it, it’s a mortal offense.”

“Hardly.”

Hermione gave Remus a look.

Remus sighed and ran a hand through his greying blond hair.“You said Severus was brittle. That’s not a bad assessment. But remember that Severus was once broken, so brittle is a big improvement. He lost the woman he loved and spent nearly twenty years of his life paying for it, and that was after seven years of being severely bullied for the mere sin of being smart enough to be competition, a little moody, and loving the wrong girl.”

“I know all that, Remus. But that doesn’t absolve him of being grumpy at me for literally asking for the exact same thing he requested on Tuesday.”

“Yeah well, he was also a pain in the ass with a sour temper. That might be more why we bullied him than the other stuff, at least to start.”

A small smile curved Hermione’s lips. “I was wondering if you were going to admit any culpability there.”

“I try to be honest with myself at least two thirds of the time.” Remus was quiet for a few seconds, studying the witch next to him. She looked exhausted, drained, but at the party he could have sworn she was having a good time. “Could I ask why you wanted to be alone?”

Hermione gave a defeated shrug. She didn’t really want to talk about it, and Remus would let her make that decision without the moping and drama that Severus would attach to even the slightest rejection. Still, she was pretty sure her communication skills still needed work, and she’d feel guilty if she didn’t confide at least some part of what was troubling her. Beside, Remus knew Harry almost as well as she did. He might have a useful insight. “It’s nothing really. Just Harry.”

“Pointedly ignoring you after clearly trying to win everyone in the room to his way of thinking?”

“That’s the one. I literally left school and spent seven months wandering around the woods with him, stalwart in my support. I gave up my life for him, my parents…” Hermione swallowed hard on the memory and shoved that thought away. She had found them in Australia easily enough, but the damage to their memory couldn’t be undone. Hermione shook her head and plowed on. “He called me regularly while I was abroad. He was my only consistent link to home… and he cuts me out because he doesn’t approve of my relationship choices. Who does that? I mean, clearly Harry does that, but…why?”

As fat tears began to tremble on Hermione’s lashes, Remus pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Harry is stubborn and single minded occasionally to the point of being an ass,” Remus said gently. “He has trouble seeing beyond the end of his nose while his temper is hot. Eventually, Ginny and the Weasleys will talk him down.”

“What if they don’t?” Hermione asked quietly. 

“Then they don’t. Can you live with that?” Remus asked.

Hermione felt the weight of his question. Neither was ready to put words to those feelings, to all that question could mean, but it didn’t mean those feelings were lacking.  
She considered a long time. Could she, would she go back to being lonely for the sake of a friendship that had literally shaped the course of her life? Could she give up a chance at her future happiness for his comfort?

“Yes,” Hermione said softly. “I can live with that.” Her life had been shaped by her relationship with Harry, but she had sacrificed more than enough for the boy who lived. He had his happily ever after. It was her turn now. 

~*~

Hermione woke on Christmas morning and wasted no time heading for the lab. It was time to start the next batch of Wolfsbane 2.0, and Hermione really didn’t want to dwell on the fact that it was yet another Christmas without her family. She worked methodically, taking out the proper ingredients, laying them out in order, and then cutting, slicing, skinning, and pulverizing as necessary. As she finished each ingredient, she put them in stasis, ready to be added to the potion at the appropriate time. 

She loved this act of potion making. It demanded her attention, fully focusing her on the task at hand without permitting space for distraction or an over-abundance of emotion. Especially now that she had learned to channel her magic into the art, it was fully absorbing. 

As she finished the last step and set down her stirring rod, Hermione became suddenly aware of a presence behind her. He pressed against her back and pressed firm lips to her neck, just behind her ear. 

“Have I told you,” Severus asked in a soft voice, “that watching you brew is a deeply erotic endeavor? The way you move your hands, the precision of your work, it is breath-taking.”  
His hands skimmed down her sides feeling her curves. He gently maneuvered her down the length of the work table so that they stood well away from the simmering potion. His lips found that spot on her neck again and he bit down lightly. 

“I also believe,” Severus continue softly, “that perhaps I reacted a bit strongly last night. Allow me to make it up to you?”

Hermione gave a jerky nod, finding it hard to thing when Severus had somehow already unclasped her robes and his hand was delving below the waist band of her skirt. She wasn’t quite sure how he did it, but somehow her skirt was suddenly on the floor, pooling around her ankles, her knickers lost in the folds of fabric. 

“Bend over the table, Hermione,” Severus commanded, his voice steel and velvet, and Hermione felt herself get wetter just with the sound of his command.

“Good girl. Now spread your legs.”

Hermione obeyed. She expected his fingers to touch her first, so the feel of his soft tongue lapping her folds was a surprise. She gasped as he turned his attention first to her clit with firm strokes that made her want to beg for more. A finger, long and thin, slid into her, curling slightly so that Hermione moaned when he found that incredible spot. 

He worked her, tongue and first one finger and then a second until the pressure was too much and she screamed out her pleasure as the orgasm ripped through her. 

As she panted her recovery, she heard the sound of Severus standing. She felt the dull tip of his penis against her core as he rubbed it through her juices before pushing into her. He moved setting a torturously slow pace so that Hermione could feel every inch as one hand held her hips in place and the other started to gently stroke her already aroused clitoris. 

“Please,” Hermione gasped out.

“Please what?” Severus asked. 

“Harder. Faster.”

Hermione could not see Severus’ smirk, but she could well imagine it as he grabbed both her hips and slammed into her. 

“Oh Merlin!” Hermione cried out.

“Not my name,” Severus said, slamming into her again. 

“Severus!” Hermione gasped. 

“Again!” 

“Severus!”

Severus moved with a passion then, driving himself relentlessly into his witch until she screamed his name a third time as her muscles pulsed around him in a second orgasm. Only then did he allow himself the final pumps, coming with a strangled gasp. 

He pulled out gently, casting a charm to clean them both before leaving a trail of kisses down Hermione’s spine. 

She stood and turned, and Severus gathered her into his arms, hugging her tightly. 

“You are exquisite,” he breathed into her hair. 

“That was incredible,” Hermione said with a small laugh. “Definitely meeting all the fantasy criteria.”

“Fantasy criteria?” Severus asked. 

“Oh yeah,” Hermione said with a sheepish grin into Severus’ chest. “That’s probably my favorite bathtub fantasy.”

Severus blinked. He knew Hermione masturbated. She was a human with a healthy sexual appetite. “Wait, you fantasize about that… with me?”

“No, with Neville.” She felt him stiffen and she laughed, “Of course with you, Severus.” 

His body relaxed and she held him tighter for a second before standing on tiptoes to kiss him. 

When he pulled away at last, Severus said, “I believe Remus is waiting for us in his quarters with breakfast. He asked me to fetch you.”

Hermione blushed. “We’ve kept him waiting…?”

Severus smirked. “Yes.”


	14. Christmas II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos! I'm trying to work a couple chapters ahead, so although this one is shorter, don't worry, there is more to come!

Hermione sobbed into her pillow case, feeling waves of grief rip through her. She felt like she was drowning in an ocean and each time she managed to pull her head above the water, another wave crested and dragged her back under. She couldn’t breathe. The pain of Bellatrix’s torture was less painful than what she was feeling, and she would happily have traded the physical pain for her emotional tumult. 

“I was going to make a snide comment about how Severus usually survives an hour of Christmas morning before fleeing, but clearly this is different from Severus’ distaste for all things fun and cheerful.”

Hermione hiccuped as she tried to gulp air, and another sob came out. 

She felt her mattress dip as Remus sat next to her. He smoothed her hair for a few moments before shifting to lie down next to her, his front pressed against her back, wrapping his body around hers. 

Somehow, the feel of someone here, caring for her, being with her in her pain… it felt like twisting a knife. Pain ripped through her more fully, more deeply, as though everything that she had held back for years was determined now, in the face of this kindness, to escape her tightly held control. She shattered into a thousand pieces. 

~*~

She woke up, or came to, she wasn’t quite sure which. It was sometime later and Remus was still holding her tightly. He kissed the crown of her head, and they lay together in silence.   
“Would you like to talk about it?” Remus asked.

“I— I—“ Hermione swallowed down the lump clogging her throat as she tried to find the words. “I don’t like Christmas.” 

“Hm,” Remus said. 

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to muster words. 

“I used to really love Christmas. My parents made a big deal of it. We always did a Christmas dinner, and we finished decorating the tree on Christmas Eve. They put lights on the tree earlier, but we didn’t hang the ornaments until the night before. My dad played Christmas music for the whole month of December. They, we, had costumes and we’d go caroling when I was young. Mum and I baked hundreds of Christmas cookies that we gave out to all our friends. It was the only time of the year I was allowed sweets.” She could almost smell the nutmeg and cinnamon of her mother’s Christmas cookies.

She fell silent then, mustering words. She felt wrung out, dehydrated, exhausted. She didn’t really want to finish, but felt she owed Remus an explanation.

“In America, I basically ignored Christmas. I was on my own. It was annoying that the shops we mostly closed, but I could go out to the movies and escape into someone else’s emotions for a while.”

“Without my parents—” Emotion tightened her throat, cutting off her words for a long moment. “Without my parents, I can’t—“

Remus wrapped his arms around her and held her again. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to.”

“Last night, at the Burrow, I was distracted, I could pretend…I could pretend it was normal.”

“I don’t need an explanation, Love. You don’t need to justify.” 

Hermione rolled over, facing Remus at last. She knew her face was likely blotchy and red, and she was sure she looked frightful, but she needed to see him. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, her voice soft, little more than a whisper. 

Remus kissed her forehead. “No need for that,” he said, gathering her into a tight hug. Hermione snuggled into his arms. 

~*~

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed there, or when she fell asleep, but she awoke to find herself alone in her bed, her blanket tucked around her. From her window, she could see that it was already dark, or perhaps still dark. She didn’t bother checking the time. She was too alert to go back to sleep regardless. She padded into her kitchenette and made a pot of tea, relieved her bladder, and then went to the lab. 

Hermione checked the list for the infirmary and was relieved to see that Madame Pomfrey had requested refills on a number of potions during the winter holidays. She set to work, losing herself in the rhythm of chopping, grinding, powdering, mixing, and stirring. She allowed herself the meditation of focusing entirely on an external task and away from the storm clouds of emotion in her chest. 

She wondered if Severus felt this way, if his calm demeanor and intense focus was a way of displacing his attention and emotions. Perhaps, like her, he understood the magic of intensity. 

It was a coping mechanism, and perhaps not the healthiest one. Hermione was well aware on some level that she was avoiding processing her feelings, but sometimes processing felt like poking a bruise, something that intensified and elongated the pain rather than aiding in its healing. Besides, she justified, people meditated and practiced mindfulness. Surely brewing wasn’t so different. 

She set down her rod and prepared to bottle the headache potion when she suddenly became aware of another presence in the room. She didn’t jump only because she had become more or less accustomed to Severus’ silent appearances. 

“You’ve done the headache and the contraceptive potion, and started the nausea draught. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Severus removed his cauldron from the shelf and started the fire for it to rest on. 

There was a long silence, during which Hermione bottled her potions and took the ingredients out of storage for her next batch. 

Severus opened and closed his mouth several times. Hermione saw that he was trying to formulate words and she gave him the time to compose himself. Besides, allowing him to talk saved her from the need to do so. She was becoming more and more comfortable with silence. 

“Twice now in as many days Remus has given you… some emotional solace.”

Hermione didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what to say or where Severus might be going. 

“I recognize that I was the cause of the first incident—” He broke off. “I am not an emotive man. I do not often speak of feelings. Hermione—”

Hermione set down her knife and looked up. 

“You may speak to me of feelings. I do not disdain such things.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “You used to enjoy terrifying children until they cried and then ridicule them for crying. For fun. Weekly.”

“I haven’t done that in… months,” Severus said, and Hermione caught the faint gleam of humor in his eye that told that he was joking. The glint faded when he continued. “I had a part to play and needed to portray a certain image. And I was… not in a healthy mental state. While I am not a ‘fun’ teacher, my classroom demeanor has improved dramatically since the war.”

Hermione rubbed her hands on her face and then immediately regretted it when she smeared something that was almost certain pus on her cheek. She cast a quick spell to clean her face and hands and then set her wand down. Severus’ lips quirked up at one corner, a sure sign of his amusement. 

“Remus came to me and offered me comfort. He gave me the time and space to vent and grieve. If you do the same when I need it, it’s likely you’ll be ‘rewarded’ with emotional unloading. Although once you’re stuck with that consequence, I’m sure you’ll wonder why you ever wanted it.”

“Hermione,” Severus said, his eyes intent on hers, “I know precisely why I want it. I want you. All of you. Not just your body. Not just your mind. I want everything that makes you Hermione Jean Granger.”

“Severus?”

“I am not good at emotions. But I can say that those I have where you are concerned are particularly… strong.”


End file.
